


How To Fix A Broken Home

by charlestonIguess



Series: How to Fix a Broken Home [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Destiel - Freeform, Don't worry, F/M, Homophobia, Incest, M/M, Minor Character Death, PTSD, Prostitution, Rape, Torture, but only slight mentions, it's not wincest, just michael and lucifer, lots and lots of angst, mentions of prostitution as well, that's a new one, the author is not sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:17:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 22
Words: 62,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlestonIguess/pseuds/charlestonIguess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Winchester is a contract killer and, when he’s off the clock, an abusive alcoholic. Dean finally has enough and takes Sam to live with Uncle Bobby, where he meets the Milton family, and their interesting sons, Castiel and Gabriel. Little does he know that their families are intertwined already.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> High School/Mobster AU, Destiel/Sabriel/Michifer – all human. Sam is fourteen, Dean is eighteen, I’m English so excuse me if I get everything all anglicised.

When his Dad threw a punch at Sam and Dean stepped in, he knew it was time to change things around here.

It wouldn’t be the first time Dean had got in the way of his father’s drunken anger, but it was the first time Sammy had. No matter how angry Sam made Dad, no matter how angry Dad got, he never raised a finger against Sam. That was the rule.

The next morning, showered and dressed, Dean grimaced at his reflection – the black eye would be hard to hide – and dialled Bobby.

The voice that answered after several rings was gruff and filled with sleep. “Who the hell calls at this time of morning?”

“Bobby, it’s Dean,” he replied. “Sorry to wake you.”

“It’s alright, kid,” the old man replied. “I don’t need sleep anyway. Something up?”

Dean swallowed and wondered if he could really do this. But then he looked at himself in the mirror again and thought, yeah, he could do this. “Bobby, Sam and I need to come and stay.”

There was a short intake of breath, before Bobby said, “Does your Dad know you’re calling me?”

“No,” Dean replied. “But he will do soon. I need your okay, and then I’ll bring Sammy over. We’ll need – look, Sam can go to high school, alright? I’ll get a job. You know I can.”

“It’s alright, son,” Bobby replied, and that familiar shiver went down Dean’s spine. Being called son was something real special for him. “You tell that father of yours that you’re coming to stay. When can you be here? We’ll sort everything out when you get here.”

“We’re only a few hours away,” Dean told him, knowing that the gratitude was all too obvious in his voice. He didn’t need any damn chick flick moments. “I’ll go tell Sam to pack, and then – I guess I’ll talk to Dad. We’ll be there by this evening, latest.”

“I’ll see you soon then, son.” Without another word, Bobby hung up. Dean would be eternally grateful for the old man.

Dean pocketed the phone with a sigh, splashed some water over his face and went to face the music.

Downstairs, Sam was already up and moving, making coffee in the kitchen. John was still unconscious on the couch, but the smell of coffee would entice him to move soon. Dean watched Sam try and reach to balance the coffee pot easily and wondered if the kid would ever grow. Somehow, he found himself hoping he wouldn’t; Sam was a lot easier to protect this way.

But still, if the kid went on like this he would burn himself, so Dean slid in behind him and caught the pot easily, making his brother jump at his appearance.

“Dean-!” he started, surprised, but Dean only pressed a finger to his lips, glancing over at Dad in warning. Sam understood instantly, but couldn’t look away from the bruising on Dean’s face. He looked sick to his stomach.

“Sammy, I need you to go upstairs and pack everything you need as quickly as possible, okay?” Dean said quietly. “Pack some things for me too. We’re getting out of here today, okay? Going to stay with Bobby awhile. Ah – don’t argue, Sam. We can talk about it when we’re on the road, okay?”

Surprisingly, Sam didn’t argue, but glared at his brother and ducked out from under his arms, storming (quietly) upstairs. Dean sighed; he knew Sam hated moving, but hopefully this one would be okay. They could simply move into Bobby’s house and Sam could start the high school there – the new year only started a few weeks back, so he wouldn’t exactly be that far behind. Dean would… well, he could fix cars, and if push came to shove he knew how to do a lot worse than that. You sort of learnt that kind of thing when you lived with a contract killer.

Assassin. That’s what John Winchester did. Since Mary Winchester had been killed in a fire when Dean was a kid, John had gone off the rails. He started drinking and they nearly ended up completely homeless – would have, too, if it wasn’t for Bobby. He saved them and looked after them when they were young and John went all over the country to find work. Then he found something a little steadier, and the boys went with him.

John wanted to train his sons to do what he did. Dean learnt. Sam didn’t.

It wasn’t that Sam didn’t learn to protect himself – he was kickass at hand-to-hand fighting. But he didn’t know how to kill people the way John taught Dean, and it was going to stay that way if Dean had his say in it. His brother was never, ever going to learn that shit.

Sighing, Dean poured two cups of coffee and brought them over to the couch, where John still lay, inert. Some days, Dean couldn’t help himself from hoping that John simply wouldn’t wake up – it was an evil thought, and he loved his father and knew he did the best he could, but it would be a lot easier for him and Sam if John just wasn’t there.

Not that he was there much, anyway.

Dean took a seat in the chair and leant forwards, putting the coffee on the table. Then, clearing his throat, he said, “Dad, wake up.”

The man didn’t stir, so Dean repeated himself louder. “Dad, _wake up_.” John grimaced and blinked, stretching his arms out and shading his eyes from the light. He glanced around and Dean pointed wordlessly to the coffee on the table.

He grabbed it as he sat up, taking a glug even though it had to be scalding hot still. Only after he had rubbed his eyes with one hand did he focus on Dean. He didn’t react to the bruising.

“What time is it?”

“Eight,” Dean replied quietly, blowing on his coffee.

“What the hell did you wake me for?” John glared at him and looked like he was about to go back to bed. “You’re a fucking idiot sometimes, Dean-”

“I need to talk to you,” Dean said, trying not to let his Dad’s words affect him, even if it was fighting a losing battle. “Don’t go to sleep.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” His voice cracked across Dean’s skin; John had no need for a whip to control his son.

Dean couldn’t back down though. “I called Bobby,” he said calmly, still staring into his coffee. “I’m going to take Sam over there today, and we’re going to stay there, at least till Sam gets through high-school. Then he can go off to college. We’ll be out of your hair this way-”

“What?” John looked honestly confused for a second. Then he just looked mad. “You aren’t going anywhere. You’re my sons and you’re staying with me-”

“It’s better for all of us if Sam gets somewhere more settled. This way, you know we’re safe and we’re easy to access if anything happens-” Dean would keep going in this vein for as long as possible. He had to try.

“Shut up!” John was standing now, glaring down at his son. Dean didn’t move – he didn’t even look up and meet his Dad’s eyes. “You’re going nowhere. You can’t make any damn decisions – you’re my son and you’re staying here. Fucking hell. What makes you think-?”

“It’s safer for all of us if Sam and I aren’t here, Dad,” Dean said quietly. He looked up at his father, remembering the fist colliding with his face last night, the angry, drunken yells. He remembered Sam scarpering, running up the stairs to hide. What was worse, it wasn’t the first time.

“What are you talking about?” John snapped. “You’re my sons. Your place is with me. Besides, who can protect you better than I can?”

“No one, Dad,” Dean admitted as he rose to his feet, meeting his father’s eye. “But who’s going to protect us from you?”

There was a silence as John stared at his son, his face twisting. Dean knew he reminded his father of Mary and he knew that John hated him for it. But that was okay, because he couldn’t really blame his dad. After all, Dean hated himself too, most of the time.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dean swallowed and said, “What, do you think I got this bruise from walking into a door? God, you weren’t _that_ drunk, were you? You don’t even remember?”

“Shut up,” John said. “Just _shut. Up._ You – you’re not going and that’s _final_!” His voice was raised and he was shouting in Dean’s face.

Any other day, Dean would back down instantly, apologise and try and forget he said anything. But – Sam’s fearful face stared back at him in his mind’s eye and he said, “We’re going, Dad. I’m sorry.”

The fist came out of nowhere and sent Dean staggering back. _Shit_. That hurt like a bitch, especially over his already sore bruise. John had a mean right-hook when he wanted it.

Dean wiped the blood from his nose, knowing that it wasn’t broken at least, and said, “You’re not proving your point very well, Dad. Sam?” he added, raising his voice. “You ready to go?”

“Almost!” his little brother yelled back.

“What? You think you can just take my son from me, you bastard?” John was seething. “You – what the hell is wrong with you? I mean, you’ve always been a disappointment, but _this_ … Jesus Christ, Dean. I can’t stand to look at you, you piece of shit. Trying to steal Sam from me-”

“I’m not stealing anyone,” Dean replied, acting as if every word his father said didn’t cut him to the bone. “I’m taking him someplace safe.”

John sneered at him. “What makes you think he’s any safer with you than he is with me? The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, after all. You reckon I’m not safe – well, aren’t you just like me, Dean? Sam’s not safe with _either of us_.”

“He’s safe with me. I’d never hurt him,” Dean said firmly, before calling, “Hurry the hell up, Sam!”

“I’m _coming_ ,” his brother yelled back, and he heard a thump.

“You stop that right now,” John yelled up to Sam. “You’re not going _anywhere_!”

“Don’t listen to him, Sammy,” Dean shouted. “You keep packing. We’re getting out of here today.” John turned on him, grabbed his shirt and shoved him back against the wall. Dean’s head cracked against it, hard enough to make him blink but not so bad that he was dizzy.

“You’re not going anywhere, you piece of shit,” John hissed, tightening his grip.

“Bobby’s expecting us,” Dean spat. “You know he’ll come looking if we’re not there by tonight and you _know_ he’ll find us.” Dean was under no illusions; he knew John would hurt him if he needed to in order to keep Sam with him. Sam was all that John cared about – Mary had died protecting Sam, he had told Dean once. And now it was their job.

“You fucking piece of _crap_!” John exploded, fisting both hands in Dean’s shirt and shaking him. “How _could_ you? You betrayed me, you _faggot_. As if it’s not bad enough that you’re already a fairy, you have to steal my _son_ from me with these lies-”

Dean wanted to crumple, but Sam was on the stairs now, holding two bags, and he couldn’t. Instead, he shoved back at his father and broke his grip, bringing his fist up to punch him in the face. It stung like a bitch, but John looked suitably shocked and stayed back.

“We’re going, now.” Dean could be just as authoritative as his father if he needed to be. “I’ll call you, Dad.”

With that he opened the door for Sam, who slid out, picked up the keys and walked out.

 

* * *

 

They stopped for lunch, and Sam helped Dean clean the dried blood off of his face. When they were sitting in the diner, a few people stopped by to ask if they were okay, but Dean just smiled and told them that they were fine, thank you very much, and no, they didn’t need any help. They were on their way to a relative’s house. It was only another couple of hour’s drive. There was _really_ nothing wrong.

“Dean,” Sam whispered as they finished their sandwiches. “What’s going on?”

Dean hesitated, and said, “We’re going to live with Bobby for a while. You can get settled into the school there and we’re going to stay until you graduate.” It wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t what’s going on. But did Sam really need him to spell it out?

“Dad’s mad at you,” Sam said quietly.

“Well, yeah,” Dean admitted. “He wasn’t really on board with the whole living with Bobby plan. But he’ll come round.” He doubted that.

“You sure?” Sam asked, sucking on his milkshake with a frown.

“Sure,” Dean said. “Now, let’s get cracking. I want to get to Bobby’s for dinner. You know he’ll make chilli for us if we ask real nice, right Sammy?”

“Right,” Sam agreed, jumping up. “I love Bobby’s chilli!”

“Yeah, kid,” Dean muttered, wrapping an arm around Sam’s shoulders as he led the way out. “Me too.”

The rest of the drive was pretty ordinary. Sam bitched about Dean’s music and Dean replied with the usual, “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his piehole.” Then Sam fell asleep to Metallica and Dean turned it down, focusing on the drive. The impala was a thing of beauty – John had bought it way back when Mary was alive and he’d given it to Dean when he turned sixteen and got his licence – not that he hadn’t been driving since he was about thirteen and tall enough to reach the pedals, but it was a bit more legal then. John said it was too flashy for him to drive in his occupation and Dean might as well use it. He’d said it was a piece of crap, but Dean had rebuilt it lovingly and he knew that that car would keep going long after he stopped, because it was a beautiful machine. It just needed a little TLC once in a while.

That was the best thing about cars really – they gave back exactly what you put in. If Dean put the time into the Impala, it would drive with a contented purr and never let him down. Not like people.

Dean sighed and signalled, pulling off the main road and onto the old dust track that led to Bobby’s place. He hadn’t been in here in a couple of years – not since John had decided that the kids would be fine with him and Dean was old enough to look after Sam now, anyway – but it was like coming home.

He pulled to a stop and reached over to shake Sam awake. “Come on, Sammy,” he said, opening the door. “We’re here.”

Dean opened the trunk, pulled out the bags and slammed it shut again as Sam got to his feet, wearily rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Dean chuckled and nudged him forwards, up onto the porch, and knocked on the door. A minute later, Bobby opened up, staring at them gruffly. His eyes paused on Dean’s mangled face but he didn’t look surprised – if anything, he seemed disappointed.

“Well, you gonna just sand there? I ain’t got all day,” he muttered and Dean grinned, shoving Sam inside.

“Good to see you, Bobby,” he said, shaking the man’s hand with a warm smile.

“You too, kid,” he said, glancing at Sam. “You haven’t grown a bit.”

“I know,” Sam said with a long-suffering sigh. “Dean says it’ll happen any day soon, but – well, I don’t think so.”

Dean smiled fondly and said, “You know it will, Sammy.” 

“Don’t call me Sammy,” Sam replied, glowering at his older brother.

Bobby watched the two with a hint of a smile behind his beard and then said, “Go shove your stuff in the spare room. I’ve made up a couple of beds up there already. Dinner’ll be ready in a few and don’t think I’m gonna be serving you kids every night!” He walked back off to the kitchen grumpily and Dean smirked.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Bobby.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I don't know if any of this makes sense, but here's chapter two. All of this is un-beta'd by the way, since I don't have one, so any mistakes are my own.

They sorted everything out after Sam went to bed. Bobby didn’t ask any questions; he didn’t need to. Dean’s face sort of said everything for him.

“I called the school and they’re willing to let you start on tomorrow if you bring your papers. You got ‘em?”

Dean nodded, glancing at the bags. He’d started packing his own the night before, putting every form of documentation Sam and he would need in there. He knew John would react the way he did, even if he had hoped for a better reaction. “Tomorrow? Really?”

“Yup,” Bobby said. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

“I’ll get a job soon, Bobby,” Dean promised. “I can work here, as well, after school – you know I rebuilt the impala. I’m good with engines.”

“That’s a grand idea, Dean,” Bobby said. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, after school. No,” he added, forestalling Dean’s protest. “I don’t want to hear about how you’ll repay me. I should have brought you kids over here years ago, before it went far enough for you to come yourselves. You ain’t got nothing to pay me back for. Now you go upstairs and get some sleep, and I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Dean didn’t say anything, overwhelmed by the fathering that came so easily from Bobby. He was tired and a bit afraid (not that he’d ever admit to it of course) and being sent to bed – well, it was a nice feeling. He wouldn’t let it happen too often, thought.

He climbed up the stairs and flopped into bed.

 

* * *

 

The drive to school the next morning was tense. Sam was clutching his backpack so tightly that his knuckles were white, and Dean was tapping on the steering wheel. Neither of them spoke, but that was okay – ACDC was playing loud enough to make it awkward if they tried to talk.

Sam hadn’t bitched him out about his music choice yet, though, which was worrying. Sam _always_ moaned about it.

Dean parked in front of the school – it was a small town, so the school hadn’t exactly been hard to find – and looked across at Sam. “You okay?” he asked.

Sam nodded.

Dean sighed. “It’s going to be fine, Sammy,” he promised. “Stop being such a girl about it.” He smiled, punching his brother’s shoulder affectionately. Sam grimaced at him and rubbed at it like it hurt, but he smiled a bit too. It was okay again.

He sighed and shoved the door open, climbing out. Sam copied his movements a little more hesitantly, but followed Dean willingly enough as he walked across the parking lot to reception. Around him, people were pulling up for their days too and a lot of people were casting glances their way.

Dean hated small towns sometimes. He loved the anonymity of big cities, where strangers were common and actually being a regular was more of an irregularity. Here, they would be the centre of attention for a while.

It didn’t help, of course, that his face was fucking purple. But with Sam at his side, Dean didn’t glare at anyone and make a scene. If he met anyone’s eyes, he nodded politely. He was pretty impressed with himself, if he told anyone the truth.

They mounted the stairs and Dean pushed open the door for Sam, who still seemed hesitant but went in without complaint. There was a woman at the desk with long brown hair, whose name was apparently Madison.

There was a tag on the desk.

Dean stepped forward and said, “Hi.”

She looked up and frowned at him. “What do you want?”

Well, that was unfriendly. “I’m Dean Winchester-”

“Oh, right,” she said, and smiled. “Bobby called ahead. Sorry, I thought you were trouble or something – with the bruises. Let me see, where’s your paperwork…?” She began to dig through piles of letters and forms and Dean clenched his jaw. Really. Fucking hell, this bruise was going to be the end of him. Assumed he was trouble. Riiight.

“Ah!” she said, pulling out some forms. “Just sign here and here – you got a guardian?”

“I’m Sam’s guardian,” Dean replied calmly. “But we can put Bobby as our emergency contact.”

She shot him an assessing look, but nodded. “Okay, well just sign here as well, and I need a copy of…”

It took five minutes, but soon enough Dean had handed over the last of the paperwork and he and Sam were receiving schedules and book lists and all kind of things.

“Now, your homeroom is just down the hall – oh! Castiel! Gabriel!” Madison waved over their shoulders and Dean turned to see two boys walking over, one around Sam’s age and the other his. “Dean, Sam, this is Castiel Milton and his brother Gabriel Milton. Boys, these are Dean and Sam Winchester. They started school today – you don’t mind showing them around today, do you?”

“No, of course not,” the elder boy said quietly. Now, despite what John had said, Dean wasn’t a fairy. He liked women, a lot. But this guy – well, he’d go gay in a second for him. He was a little shorter than Dean, but well-built, with tousled brown hair that Dean wanted to run his hands through and bright blue eyes – Dean had never seen any that bright. He was _gorgeous_. “We’d love to show you around. I’m Castiel.”

Dean swallowed and shook the offered hand, hoping his wasn’t suddenly sweaty. “Dean Winchester,” he replied. “My brother, Sam.”

“Hi!” Sam said cheerfully, smiling at the younger boy – who was shorter than Sam (somehow that was possible) and had long brown hair and a shit-eating grin that Dean instantly worried about. Troublemaker. “I’m Sam.”

“Gabriel,” the little troublemaker replied. “Call me Gabe and don’t laugh at my name and we’ll do just fine. You ready for homeroom?”

Sam looked at Dean and he smiled. “You call me if you need me, okay Sam?”

“God, Dean, I’ll be _fine_. I’m not a little kid,” Sam replied, shouldering his bag and following Gabriel without another look. Dean smiled, even if it hurt a bit to be rejected by his brother.

Not that he’d admit that.

“Shall we?” Castiel asked, and Dean looked back at him and nodded.

“Sure,” he replied. “Thanks, Madison.”

“See you around, Dean. Don’t get into too much trouble!” she called and they left reception, turning down the hall. The bell hadn’t rung yet, so a lot of people were still wandering around, and he drew a lot of attention. Beside him, Castiel was quiet.

“So,” Dean said. “You been here long?”

“All my life,” the young man replied. “You?”

“I’ve stayed here a few times,” Dean told him, shrugging. “Bobby’s an old friend of my Dad’s and we moved around a lot. It’s more settled for Sam if we stay here.”

“Oh,” Castiel said. He didn’t ask any more questions. “Homeroom is this way. Mr Walker takes it. He teaches maths if you are interested.”

“Great,” Dean muttered. He hated maths.

“He’s a very good teacher,” Castiel said calmly. “He doesn’t mind if you’re not good at arithmetic either.”

“Good,” Dean muttered.

“As long as you try hard, that is.”

“Damn,” he added. “Oh well.” Castiel shot him a reproving look, but he didn’t say anything. Dean smirked at him, and wondered if he was really uptight or if it was just because Dean was new. “So, you got any other family than Gabriel?”

“I am one of the younger sons of a large family,” Castiel replied, turning a corner. “Gabriel and I are the only ones currently attending school, but my elder sister Anna left last year. Balthazar left two years before that. I have two other brothers as well. Do you have any other siblings?”

That was a big family. “Nah, it’s just me and Sammy. You’ve got a big family.”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “We’re here.” He opened the door to a non-descript classroom as the bell rang and walked inside, leaving Dean somewhat off-kilter behind him. Castiel was _strange,_ man. Hot, but weird.

Probably came from being part of such a big family.

He walked in and the teacher looked up, smiling. “Ah,” he said. “You must be Dean Winchester.” How did everyone know who he was? “I’m Mr Walker, and I’ll be taking you for calculus later on. Why don’t you introduce yourself to the class, Dean?”

Introducing yourself to the class is the bane of any new kid’s existence. Dean was still shit at it, and he was always the new kid.

“Right,” he muttered and turned to face the class. It was small, but this was a small school; Bobby had told him that there was one class per year group, which was bizarre, but it was a small town so he guessed it made sense. There were a group of girls giggling in the corner (aren’t there always?) and a couple of typical, football-type blokes. Castiel sat alone.

And everyone was staring at him.

“Hi,” he said, hands on his pockets. God, this was uncomfortable. “I’m Dean Winchester.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Dean. Say hello, class,” Walker said and Dean decided then and there that he _hated_ this guy.

There was a general mumbling of ‘Hey’ and ‘Hi, Dean’, which made him want to kill himself (or Walker), but the teacher seemed pleased. “Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself, Dean?”

Dean stared at him in silence for a minute. _What_? What the hell was he supposed to say?

“Dean?” Walker prodded, and Dean sighed.

“Uh, I – live with Bobby Singer?” It came out as a question and he tried to subdue a ridiculous sense of panic. He really hated this guy. “And… I’ve got a brother, called Sam. He’s a freshman.” He lapsed into silence, glancing at Walker, who was still watching him expectantly. Dean went blank. Who was he? What did he like? “Uh… I fix cars?”

“Brilliant,” Walker finally said, taking pity on him – or maybe he’d fulfilled the required ‘tell us about yourself’ section. Who knew? “Go ahead and take a seat, Dean.”

Dean nearly sighed in relief and dived into the first free seat, beside a guy with ridiculous hair who grinned at him.

“Hey,” the guy whispered. “I’m Ash. Nice to meet you, Dean the Mechanic.” Dean the Mechanic… yeah, he wished. He nodded shortly at the guy, who didn’t seem put off by his brusqueness. “Walker’s always like that with new kids. Bad luck, but you handled it well.”

“Uh… thanks,” Dean said, glancing around. Behind him say a pretty blonde girl and a boy with brown hair and a vacant smile.

“I’m Jo Harvelle,” the girl said, leaning forwards with a wide smile. “This is Andy Gallagher. It’s real nice to meet you, Dean Winchester.”

“You too,” Dean said, smiling at her (hey, you smile at cute girls). His eyes trailed around the class and he got a few curious stares back, before he settled in and turned his attention to the front. Well, this was going to be fun.

Not.

 

* * *

 

The morning passed pretty slowly, but he got on well with Jo, Ash and Andy, enough so that when lunch came it was pretty much a no brainer that he joined them at their table. Jo led them to a table with two people sitting at it already, a brown-haired guy who looked messy and tired that Dean recognised from classes, and a blonde, bubbly girl who looked a little younger than them.

Jo slid into a seat beside the boy. “Dean, this is Chuck. He’s in our year. And this is Becky, who’s a junior. Guys, this is Dean Winchester.”

“The mechanic,” Ash added as he slid into a seat beside Becky. “Hey Becks.”

“Hi Ash,” she replied, smiling at Dean. “What happened to your face?”

Well, that was direct. Dean sat down too, beside Jo, and said, “Do you usually interrogate people before they sit down?”

“Yeah, she does,” Andy told him, sitting beside Ash. “She’s just Becky.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but you’ve clearly got at least two separate injuries to your face which makes me assume that you were either punched or incredibly accident prone, and you don’t _look_ accident prone – does he, Chuck? So really, I guess the question is who punched you?”

Dean blinked at her as she spoke. Did she need to breathe?

“You don’t have to tell us,” Jo broke in, scowling at Becky. “She’s just incredibly impolite.

“I don’t mind,” Dean lied, shrugging. “I got into a fight. There’s no real story to tell.” _Lying on your first day, Winchester_ , he scolded himself. What was he supposed to do? He could hardly tell the truth, could he?

“Bullshit,” Jo said, then waved to someone behind him. “Hey, Castiel, over here!” Dean glanced behind him and, sure enough, the boy from earlier made his way over to them, shooting Becky an apprehensive look.

“You been avoiding us?” Ash asked as Castiel sat down beside him.

“Of course not,” the boy replied. “I have simply been paying attention in lessons, and you know as well as I do that sitting with you is not conducive to paying attention.”

That much was true; Ash talked all the time – when he wasn’t asleep, that was.

“Shh,” Jo scolded. “Dean was telling us about his face.”

Dean shifted and frowned. “Like I said, there’s not much of a story,” he hedged, glancing at Castiel then back at his plate. He shouldn’t have said anything.

“You got into a fight and there isn’t a story?” Jo laughed. “At least tell us that the other guy looks worse.”

Yeah, he’s probably passed out drunk by now. Dean laughed and said, “What do you take me for, Harvelle? Of course he does.”

“Good,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Did you _see_ Lisa Braeden? She looks ridiculous with short hair.”

“Jo, we are _not_ talking about hair,” Andy interrupted. “I mean, first off, we’re all guys. Secondly, we’re sitting with _Ash_. We _cannot_ talk about hair.”

“Fair point,” Dean said, biting into a chip.

“Hey, my hair is awesome,” Ash said. “It’s all business up front and _party_ out back.”

“It was crap thirty years ago, Ash,” Jo told him. “And it looks even worse in the modern day.”

“No, it’s awesome! Don’t you agree, Castiel?” Ash appealed to the boy beside him with puppy dog eyes. Dean was totally immune to them by now; if you lived with Sam, you had to be.

“You are entitled to wear your hair any way you please, Ash,” Castiel replied. “I don’t understand modern fashion anyway.”

Jo rolled her eyes. “No, but you don’t understand modern _anything_ , dude.” She turned to Dean to explain. “Castiel comes from this über-religious family that don’t have technology or anything. They like, pray all the time or something.”

Castiel frowned. “That’s not entirely true. I have a mobile phone. I just don’t use it very often. And my family do not pray all the time, obviously, as I am here right now.”

Dean’s lips twitched and Jo snorted. “Dude, come on. You know she’s yanking your strings. Just ignore her.”

“Yanking my strings?” the young man asked, tilting his head to one side quizzically. “I don’t understand.”

“It means that she’s joking,” said a new voice. Dean glanced up and saw that it was Gabriel, standing alone and looking irritated. “Cas, I hate this school.”

“What’s wrong?” Castiel replied immediately, pulling out a chair for his brother. “Has someone said anything?”

“Ruby Masters,” Gabe replied as he dropped into the chair with a sigh. “She’s a typical Masters.”

Castiel frowned and bit his lip, glancing around the lunch room to find this girl. He focused on someone and Dean turned to see a pretty brunette sitting with his brother across the room. She was laughing and leaning into him suggestively, and Sam looked totally enthralled in her.

Dean’s stomach twisted at seeing that look in his brother’s eyes. That wasn’t right. Sam shouldn’t look at anyone like that.

“Who is she?” Dean asked as he turned back to face them.

“She’s a member of the Masters family,” Castiel said quietly. “That is all you need to know.”

“That’s my brother she’s sitting with,” Dean replied smartly and the other people on their table immediately spun to look. “So I think I need a bit of a better explanation than that.”

“The Masters are trouble,” Gabriel piped in, scowling. “They’re this big family, really into crime and stuff. They hate us because Michael’s mayor.”

“Michael?”

“My eldest brother,” Castiel said smoothly, glancing at Gabriel to shut him up. “He’s the Mayor. Have you heard of a man named Crowley?”

 _Crowley_. Holy _shit_. Dean went cold at the very mention of the man. _Of course_ he’d heard of Crowley, because John worked for him. He could hardly explain that, could he?

So he shrugged and said, “I think the name’s familiar. I don’t remember. Why?”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Because he is head of the Masters family, one of the most notorious families in the United States. He runs Masters and Co., which is a front for one of the most wide-spread drug businesses in North America. Ruby is his youngest daughter. That’s why you should know his name.”

Holy fucking shit hell. Just what he needed. _Shit_. Ruby was related to Crowley – did she – nah, she was too young. She wouldn’t be involved in that business. She wouldn’t know John.

What the hell was this town?

“I’ll… be right back,” he said, swallowing. He started to stand up, but Castiel reached for his wrist.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” he said quietly. “If she likes Sam, she’ll keep him safe. If you insult her… well, I wouldn’t like to be you.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean muttered, glancing between the hand on his wrist and the boy over his shoulder that still stared, enamoured, at Ruby. “Look, Cas, it’s really nice of you to look out for me but I can take care of myself.”

“Not against people like this,” Castiel replied firmly. The other people at the table still watched them, and the hand on his wrist tightened a little. “You don’t know how dangerous they are.”

“I’ve met worse,” he muttered.

“Don’t be stupid,” Castiel urged him quietly. “You haven’t met _anyone_ until you meet the Masters family. Sam is in no danger right now. Talk to him later. You’ll be in danger-”

“I can defend myself,” Dean snapped.

“Then why didn’t you fight back against whoever did that to your face?” Castiel snapped and Dean fell silent, blinking at the boy in shock. How could he possibly know that?

“What?” he croaked.

Castiel had the grace to look embarrassed, but released Dean finally and sat back. “Your knuckles would be bruised if you fought back,” he said, still quiet. “But yours aren’t. You didn’t fight back.”

“You’ve got no idea what happened,” Dean whispered fiercely, leaning over the table to get into Castiel’s face. “You have _no clue_ , okay? I can fucking defend myself if I need to. I didn’t need to.”

“I was not there,” Castiel agreed calmly. “And I believe that you can fight if you need to. But don’t risk fighting here and now; Ruby Masters is dangerous. Her family, even more so. Sam’s not at risk at the moment.”

“You’re warning me that they’re dangerous and he is _sitting right there with her_!” Even though Dean was whispering, he was losing control. Setting his jaw, he leant back and took several deep breaths, clenching and unclenching his fists unconsciously.

“I promise you, Dean,” Castiel said quietly. “He’ll be quite safe until the end of the day. Then you should talk to him and make sure he goes nowhere near that family ever again. They are very, _very_ dangerous. Do you understand me?”

 _More than you know_ , he thought. Of course the Masters family was dangerous. Dean had met some of them before, when John had been injured on a job and he’d had to pick him up from one of their bases.

Meg Masters had been slimy and smiley, just a year older than him at the time, and had watched him like he was a piece of meat from the moment he stepped into the mansion. Two men were sitting opposite his father in the ‘parlour’ when he was shown in (pretentious dickheads). They smiled at him when he walked in and John shot to his feet.

“Dean,” he said, nodding. “You’re late.”

He wasn’t, of course, since they hadn’t specified a time and he’d come as soon as he could, but he still bowed his head in apology. “Sorry,” he said. He didn’t offer an explanation.

“That’s quite alright,” one man said, smiling. “Why don’t you come and join us for a cup of tea? I can hardly wait to get to know a son of John Winchester.” The way he said it made Dean’s skin crawl. “My name is Alastair. This is Azazel. You must be Dean, right? Do come and sit down.” Dean hesitated and looked at John for orders.

John shifted. “I… well, uh.”

“Dad,” Dean said suddenly, wanting to get out of there. “I left Sam alone.” It was the perfect excuse and John looked relieved, and also angry.

“You left him _alone_? What sort of idiot are you?” He glared at his son, before spinning around to face the two men. “I’m really sorry, sir, but-”

“Of course,” the second man – Azazel – said. “You have children to care for. We should not detain you. But John?”

“Yes, sir?” John asked as he shifted again, raring to go.

“If you mess up again, your contract will be terminated.”

“And since you signed on for life,” Alastair added, “It takes quite a lot of effort to terminate that sort of contract.”

John swallowed audibly. “Yes, sir.”

Back in the present, Dean echoed his father’s swallow. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t go near her,” Dean muttered, rubbing at his neck. He glanced back one more time, and this time Sam met his gaze. He grinned, happily, and Dean smiled back. It had been a long time since he had seen Sam act that way – like a kid should.

“Come on,” Jo said finally. “We should get to History. Pamela won’t wait around for us.”

“Pamela?” Dean asked, glad to have something to distract him as they stood up, waving goodbye to Becky. Gabriel walked with them. “Who’s she?”

“The History teacher,” Andy explained. “She likes going by her first name. I don’t actually know what her surname is, thinking about it. Anyway, she’s cool.”

“Cool, right,” Dean muttered. This was going to be a long day.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this explains some stuff. Don't expect me to update this often in future; I go to boarding school, so I'll only update at weekends. Hope you're enjoying the snow if you're in England.

Dean had to sit beside Castiel in History, because it was the only spare seat. And it was right at the front. Pamela didn’t make him introduce himself though, so he was inclined to forgive her for the unfortunate seating arrangement.

Then he decided that the universe hated him when she said, “You will be working with your partners – that’s who you sit next to, guys, not whoever you pick and yes, I have a list – on your project for this term. You’re going to be assigned a period of history and I need you to put together a comprehensive report on it, okay guys? You’re seniors now, so you shouldn’t need me to hold your hands. One of you come on up to get your assignment.”

Castiel and he shared a look, before Dean shoved away from the desk and got to his feet. Fucking hell.

He wasn’t usually this grumpy, and it wasn’t that he didn’t like Castiel. Sure, he was strange and not very good at modern society but… he was a nice guy, and he showed him around and he tried to help his brother out. But he didn’t like that Castiel could see through him pretty easily and that he was one of the Miltons, who were enemies of the Masters, and Dean was just caught in the middle.

Fuck. Why couldn’t his life ever be easy?

“Ah, so you’re Dean Winchester,” Pamela said as he reached the front of the queue. “John Winchester’s son, right?”

“You know my dad?” he asked, surprised.

Pamela laughed. “Oh, honey, round here everyone knows everyone. I remember your daddy from when he stayed with Bobby, way back when you were a little kid. It’s good to see you settled down, now. When he took off again – well, we were all worried that he’d get into trouble he couldn’t handle.”

Dean smiled uncomfortably and said, “No, ma’am. No trouble.”

“Ha!” she said, shaking her head as she handed him a sheet of paper. “I’ll believe that when I see it. And with that bruise on your face, I reckon you get into your fair share of trouble too, hey kid?”

Dean tried to smile back, but was too tense to make it anything other than a grimace. “No trouble that we can’t handle, ma’am.”

“Now that sounds like the Winchesters. Off you go.” She smiled at him and then switched her attention to the next kid. Dean flopped back into his seat, passing the paper to Castiel without looking.

“Prohibition,” Castiel said, folding it up. “We should meet tonight, if you are available.”

Dean hesitated. “I’m working in the garage tonight,” he said, “But I do that every night.” He’d organised it with Bobby that morning, who said that as long as he got his work done then he could work for him. He had wanted to pay him, too, but Dean had refused, saying that he owed Bobby enough already. “Uh, you could come over straight away if you want and get some done.”

“I’m supposed to take Gabriel home,” Castiel said hesitantly.

“You could bring him too, if you want. I mean, I’m sure he and Sam could do their homework together?” Dean didn’t understand why he was pushing this so hard, but he kind of wanted to spend time with the dude.

“I am amenable to that,” Castiel said, and Dean assumed he meant he was agreeing. The boy hesitated, then said, “I am sorry if I angered you, earlier. I did not mean to imply that you were incapable of defending yourself.”

“It’s fine,” Dean said automatically, even if he tensed at the words.

“You are still angry at me,” Castiel replied as he watched Dean, frowning. “I truly am sorry. I know it is offensive to imply that you are unable to protect your family. I simply wished to warn you about the danger.”

“It’s really alright, Cas,” Dean told him, sighing. “I’m not mad at you. I just – I’ve heard of the Masters family and I don’t want Sam involved in them.”

“No one wants to be involved with them,” Castiel said seriously. “But they become involved because the family are rich and attractive and confident. They promise people the world.”

Dean turned to look at the boy beside him and said, “You sound way too old to be in high school.”

Castiel smiled, just a twitch of his lips, but it was enough. “When you have a family like mine, you grow up quickly.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I know the feeling.”

 

* * *

 

Dean and Castiel left their last class – English Lit – together, and Castiel led him to where Sam and Gabriel would be leaving their own class. Sam stood beside Ruby, listening as she spoke earnestly to him, while Gabriel stood with a pair of girls the other side of the corridor, occasionally glaring at her.

“Hello, Gabriel,” Castiel said as they stopped beside him.

“Hey, Gabe,” Dean added, smiling at the pair of girls beside him. “These your friends?”

Gabe snorted at the insinuation behind Dean’s words. “Dean, meet Ava and Jessica. Guys, this is Dean Winchester, Sam’s elder brother.”

Jess – the blonde one – smiled eagerly at him. “It’s so nice to meet you! Sam is really clever, so you must be really proud. Are you liking the school? Is it true you live with Bobby Singer?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said, a little taken aback. Were all the blondes in this place this talkative? “To all of the above. Listen, you’re not related to Becky, are you?”

“Oh, she’s my cousin,” Jess said, smiling. “Sorry. I guess I can be a little overbearing sometimes.”

Ava was quiet, but smiled when Jess said that. “You’re not overbearing,” Dean said. “You’re nice. Listen, I’d better go and get Sam-”

“Maybe you should wait,” Castiel said. “He’s talking.” There was a slight edge to his voice that neither of the girls noticed, but it made Gabriel frown and Dean hesitate.

“Yeah, but we’ve got to go,” Dean said. “Bring Gabriel up to speed with the plan.”

“There’s a plan?” Gabriel asked, glancing between his brother and Dean. “Am I the last to know? I hate being the last to know.”

“You’re not the last to know – Sam is,” Dean told him with a grin. “If Cas can tell you quick enough, that is!” He winked at Gabe then spun away, walking over to where Sam stood, staring at Ruby as she spoke to a group of people. They weren’t just freshmen, either – there were a couple of Juniors, a Senior and a whole host of Sophomores.

“Hey, Sam,” Dean said quietly, clapping him on the shoulder. Ruby stopped short and looked at him. “You ready to go?”

“Who are you?” she said, her eyes flicking up and down his body. It felt dirty just being looked at by her.

“I’m Sam’s brother,” he replied. Then he turned his attention back to Sam. “We gotta go, Sammy.”

“But I’m not done yet,” Sam said, glaring at him. “Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll walk; it’s not far.”

Dean frowned at his brother and said, “We’re leaving, now. I’m not letting you walk home alone.”

“He doesn’t have to be alone,” Ruby said with a smile. “One of my brothers will walk him back. He’ll be completely safe.”

Dean gritted his teeth and tried not to glare at her. “Thanks, but no thanks,” he said, flashing her a tight smile. “We’ve got to get home now. Bobby’s expecting us.”

“Bobby wouldn’t mind if Sam was a little late,” Ruby said, waving her hand impatiently. “My Dad knows him. He can call and explain-”

“My Dad knows your Dad, Ruby,” Dean interrupted her quite calmly, even if his heart was beating pretty quickly. “And I think he’d have something to say about Sam hanging around with you. Sam’s got to go now – he has a friend coming over. You know Gabriel Milton, right?”

Sam was staring at him in horror, but Ruby’s face went blank. “You’d better go, then, Sam. Such a shame. If you get tired of being dictated to by your family, come find me. Let’s go.” With a toss of her head, she turned and stalked away.

“What the hell was that, Dean?” Sam hissed vehemently, turning to glare at his brother. “She’s my friend!”

“She’s a _Masters_ ,” Dean snapped. “You’re _not_ hanging around with her. Let’s go.”

“What does that have to do with _anything_?” Sam asked angrily, ignoring Dean’s attempt to leave. Gabriel and Castiel were approaching quickly, Jess and Ava leaving with a couple of glances back. “You don’t get to decide who my friends are, Dean! And why would you bring Dad into it.”

“Look, Sam, there’s a lot you don’t understand about Dad-”

“I understand just fine,” Sam spat, meeting Dean’s eyes. “I know what he does.”

“So you know who he works for, do you?” Dean asked, losing patience. This was _way_ too public a joint to be talking about. “You know what they do to him if he fucks up? Fucking hell, Sam, you _don’t know shit_. So just _shut up_ and listen to me. Ruby Masters is _bad news_ , okay? If you get in with her, you will be in danger. If you get in with that family, you _will be in danger_. So just – listen to me, alright? She’s pretty, but there are other pretty girls. Just – choose someone a little less dangerous.”

“What, like Gabriel _Milton_?” Sam shot back, glancing at the two boys who hovered behind Dean uncertainly. “Do you know about the _Miltons_ , Dean? Do you know that they’re just as bad as the Masters? That they’re into crime too, and just as corrupt, and treat people just as badly? I know more than you think, Dean. You want to get involved with the Miltons, go ahead – I’m not going to tell you who to be friends with, because I respect you way more than that. But I _like_ Ruby, Dean. She’s nice.”

“Gabriel’s nice,” Dean protested. “Why can’t you be friends with him?”

“I’m not saying I don’t want to be,” Sam muttered. “I just want to be friends with Ruby, okay?”

Dean sighed. “We’ll talk about this later. Come on. You got your things?” Sam nodded and he turned back to the Miltons with an apologetic face. Castiel looked worried, but Gabe was just scowling.

“Sorry about that,” Dean said with a smile. “You guys ready to go?”

“Perhaps we should do this another time,” Castiel said calmly. “The work can wait. We have all term, after all.”

Dean was overwhelmed with gratitude for the weird, quiet kid. “Maybe you’re right. It’s been a long day, right Sammy? We’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

Castiel smiled back and glanced down at Gabriel. “Are you ready to go?” The boy just shrugged and Castiel frowned, but placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder and guided him away. “I will see you tomorrow morning, Dean.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow, Cas,” Dean said.

Beside him, Sam stirred and said, “See you tomorrow, Gabe.”

Gabriel glanced back and flashed a brief smile at Sam, before they were gone. Dean and Sam stood in silence for a minute before Sam said, “Do you think he’s upset with me?”

“Yup,” Dean said, shouldering his bag and leading Sam out. “I think you abandoned him for his worst enemy and he’s a bit pissed off. Bros before hoes, Sam.”

 _Sound advice, that_ , Dean thought and they left the school. He opened the impala and they climbed in, Sam still quiet.

They started the drive home before Sam spoke.

“Dean,” Sam said. “Does Dad work for Ruby’s Dad?”

Dean hesitated. “I don’t know. Who’s Ruby’s dad?”

“His name is Crowley,” Sam said sadly. “And Gabriel said he was a really bad guy and wanted his family dead. He said he was a criminal and that Ruby was the same way. But Ruby said that Michael, Gabe’s brother, was a criminal and Crowley was only trying to show that he was corrupt. Apparently they both ran for mayor but Michael won and Crowley tried to prove he was cheating but couldn’t.”

Dean frowned. “I’ll talk to Bobby about it,” he said, “And get back to you on that.”

“Does Dad work for Crowley?”

Dean had never lied to Sam. And he never would – if he could avoid it. “Yeah,” he said gruffly. “But you can’t tell anyone, okay? Because we don’t need that sort of rep. We don’t have anything to do with Dad anymore.”

“Because he hit you?”

Sam was still a kid, Dean realised. He was still really young and he didn’t really understand anything. “Because he tried to hit _you_ , Sammy,” Dean sighed. “Just forget about it. We don’t need to worry about him anymore.”

Famous last words, right?

Sam sighed. “But Dean, I don’t get it. Why can’t I be friends with Ruby if Dad works with her Dad?”

“Because-” Dean broke off, trying to find the words to explain. “Look, you say you know what Dad does, right?” Sam nodded hesitantly. “Then you know that he doesn’t exactly do a normal job. And he works for Crowley, who has a load of other people like that working for him. Uh…” Dean sighed. “Look, Ruby’s dad is probably a murderer, and is at the least a psychopath. You should steer well clear.”

“But Dean, our dad is a murderer,” Sam pointed out and damn him but that was good logic. “Shouldn’t people steer well clear of us?”

“No,” Dean said, “Because we’re not like Dad.”

“You learnt everything he knows,” Sam said. “I know he taught you. And Ruby isn’t like _her_ dad. You can’t judge people on their families.”

Dean sighed. “I just… don’t like her, okay Sammy? She – be careful around her. Please.”

“I’ll be careful,” Sam promised. “But I’m not going to stop being friends with her just because her dad’s a psycho. That would be hypocritical.”

Dean smirked at the careful pronunciation of the last word. “Hypocritical, huh? You learn that today?”

“Uh huh,” Sam said, smiling. “My English Lit teacher is really cool, Dean. She taught me loads of words and we’re reading Jane Eyre and all the other boys think it’s crap but I really like it, even if it is a chick book. And my teacher said that it was really cool of me to be so good with reading girl books and she really liked my points in class. And Mr Walker – he teaches me algebra – said that I was really good at it, Dean, and I loved my French class…”

Sam babbled on about his day the whole way home and Dean smiled, listening to him. He decided then and there that walking out on John had been the best decision he’d ever made.

Of course, it was about to come and bite him in the butt.

He pulled the impala up outside Bobby’s to be met with the sight of a familiar truck parker there already. Bobby was on the porch, facing off with an angry John Winchester.

Dean swallowed.

“Stay in the car, Sam,” he ordered, opening his door. “Stay here.”

“Dean, wait,” Sam started but he slammed the door closed. Dean could practically hear the irritated sigh his brother let loose.

John and Bobby both turned to look at him as he started forwards, up the steps to the porch.

“Dean,” Bobby greeted. “Good day?”

“It was great, Bobby, thanks,” he said, meeting John’s eyes the whole time. “What are you doing here?”

“Picking my sons up,” John shot back instantly. “I don’t know what you think you’re playing at-”

“I’m not playing, Dad,” Dean replied, trying to keep calm. “It’s better this way. Sam likes school and he’s settled in already. I’ve got a job here with Bobby. It’s stable.”

“Fuck that,” John snapped. “You belong with me. Family is more important than _school_ and a _job_.”

“Yeah, Dad, it is,” Dean agreed. “So quit your job and we can be a real family, how ‘bout that?”

John started and stared at Dean. “What? That’s what this is about? ‘Cause you don’t like my _job_? You _know_ why I do this, Dean!”

Dean shook his head angrily. “I don’t think I do, Dad.”

“I do this for your Mum! I do this because those _bastards_ killed her!”

Dean frowned, getting lost pretty quickly. “What are you talking about, Dad?”

John fisted his hands and glared at Dean. “I do my damn job in order to protect people from being killed like Mary was.”

“Mum died in a house-fire, Dad,” Dean replied, his voice dropping to a whisper. What was John saying? “It was an accident.”

“It was _murder_ and I’m going to kill the fucker who did it,” John snapped. “So no, I’m not quitting my job and settling down because _family_ _comes first_. Mary needs avenging.”

Holy _shit_. Mum was _murdered_. Dean swallowed, suddenly feeling the need to sit down as his head swam. That – that couldn’t be true, right? He glanced over his shoulder, to where Sam still sat in the impala, watching the confrontation worriedly.

Sam. It was his job to protect him.

“Then you go and kill that fucker,” Dean said quietly, an intensity in his words that made him feel a whole lot older and angrier than he should be. “But I’m going to keep Sam safe here. You go and kill him, Dad, do you understand me? And then you can come back and we can move on but until you _kill him_ we are staying here, okay?”

“You belong with me-”

“Yeah, and how long till you get drunk and start lashing out at Sam again, Dad?” Dean was shocked by the words that spilled out of his mouth. “How long till you give me another black eye? Or a broken nose? Being with you _puts us in danger-_ ”

“How _dare_ you?” John yelled, lunging forwards to grab Dean by the neck of his shirt, cutting off his air supply. He was shaking him viciously as he yelled in his face. “Shut _up_ you faggot! I’d never lay a _finger_ on Sammy!”

“That is _enough_!” Bobby yelled, shoving in between them. Dean could hear the impala door slam as Sam jumped out and ran towards them, fearless idiot that he was. “You let go of him right now! Damn it, John! You’re not doing this here!”

John, breathing heavily, shoved Dean away from him and he staggered into the wall, rubbing his neck.

Bobby spun to glare at John and Sam ran to Dean’s side. He put an arm around his little brother instinctively, watching the two adult men square off.

“You get off my property right this instant, Winchester,” Bobby said sternly. “I should have done this a long time ago. These boys are staying with me, get me? When you sober up and get your feckin’ job done, you can come back and we’ll talk. Till then you stay the hell away.”

John glared at him, then met Dean’s eyes over his shoulder. He was still staring at him, angrily, but when they locked gazes, a shudder seemed to run through the elder man and the anger drained out of him. Without another word, he spun on his heel and stormed off, slamming into his truck and peeling away, kicking up gravel.

There was a beat of silence, before Bobby turned around to glare at Dean and said, “You feckin’ idjit. What the hell were you thinking?” Without waiting for an answer he shoved the door open and stalked inside.

Dean smiled and said, “Get our stuff, Sammy.” Sam didn’t protest and ran back to the impala to pick up their bags, returning quickly to his side. Dean locked the impala and they walked inside.

Bobby was in the kitchen, making coffee. He turned to look at them as they came in and gave them a heavy look, but Dean smiled at him and he seemed to melt. “You see him again, you call me right away, you understand, boys? I don’t want you around him just yet.”

“We’ll put you on speed dial, Bobby,” Dean promised. “Thanks for that.”

“Don’t say nothin’,” Bobby ordered him. “Any decent person would do the same. You drink coffee, Sam?”

“Yeah, Bobby,” Sam said. “Thanks.”

“You should get started on your homework, Sam,” Dean suggested. “I want a word with Bobby.”

Sam glared at him but stalked off without comment.

Bobby handed him a mug and stopped him from speaking by saying, “I know what you’re gonna ask, boy. He wasn’t here long – arrived about five minutes before you did, demanding to see you. He didn’t try and touch me, either – he’s not stupid.”

Dean twitched his lips into a mockery of a smile and said, “I don’t know much about that.”

“Eh, he’s not _that_ stupid, I should say,” Bobby agreed, sitting down at the table with his own mug. Dean joined him with a sigh. “Rough day?”

“Sorta,” Dean said, rubbing at his neck again. “What do you know about the Masters family? And the Miltons?”

“Ah,” Bobby said, frowning. “Probably shoulda warned you ‘bout them. They’re both as bad as each other in my opinion, though the Masters are a lot more honest about their bad intentions.”

“Are they all bad?” Dean asked, taking a sip of the hot liquid.

“I don’t know much about the kids, but you meet any of the adults and steer well clear, Dean, do you understand me?” Bobby gave him a heavy look and he nodded. “They’re basically gangster families from the twenties, but with modern weapons and fewer morals. The Miltons pretend they’re all real good and honourable – own the church in town, you know. All of them are really religious and they reckon they’re doing _god’s work_. The Masters don’t think any shit like that, at least, but they’re really dirty. You ever heard of a guy named Alastair? I know your Dad worked with him once.”

Dean shuddered at the memory of the guy’s cold eyes. “I met him once,” Dean said, his voice sounding rough. “He creeped me out.”

“You ever see him again, you run in the opposite direction,” Bobby ordered. Dean didn’t protest – he would have done it anyway. “He’s a cold-hearted bastard and tortures people for information. No one’s ever managed to resist him, I hear. The Miltons aren’t like that – they get information, sure, but I’ve never heard of them using actual torture.” Bobby shuddered.

“So, this town is in the middle of a mafia-style war and you didn’t think to warn me?” Dean asked, raising his eyebrows at Bobby. He shrugged.

“I didn’t really think about it, to be honest, kid. It doesn’t affect me much. Most people need to declare their loyalties or some shit but they leave me alone.”

“You’re Switzerland,” Dean said.

Bobby smirked. “Nah, I’m just as dangerous as both of them.”

“So, you’re a third front in this war?” Dean asked. “What are they fighting about, anyway?”

“Control,” Bobby said. “Of the town, of each other. There’s a load of drugs selling, weapons supplying – gambling in the big cities around. They don’t fight it out over there – too many cops – but they do back here. It’s been going on as long as I can remember – goes back generations. It’s kicked up a gear since Daddy Milton left – disappeared, apparently, with no word as to where he was going or what he was doing. Left a bunch of sons fighting over who should lead. His two eldest – Michael and Lucifer – got into a serious fight and Lucifer left, went over to work with Crowley. I think you might have met Castiel, one of the youngest brothers?”

Dean nodded, trying to absorb the information. “Yeah, Cas is my history partner.”

“He’s a good kid,” Bobby said. “Polite. I don’t think he’s involved in it like his big brothers. Then again, if you’re part of that family you’re part of the fight.”

“You know the Harvelles?” Dean asked, thinking of his new friends. Did they all work for the Miltons?

“Sure, Ellen and Jo. Used to know William, too, but he died long time ago.” Bobby hesitated, then said, “Dean, William – Ellen’s husband – died working for the Miltons. John killed him.”

Holy shit. John _killed_ Jo’s dad. What the _fuck_?

“You… fuck. You can’t be serious?” Dean croaked, trying to calm the motion in his stomach. He wondered absently if he was going to be sick. “You think she knows?”

“I know Ellen knows. I don’t know if Jo does.”

“And Ellen…?”

“Runs a diner in town. Everyone leaves her alone now – she’s a bit like me. Dangerous, brilliant woman and her diner everyone leaves alone. It’s a sort of neutral spot where everyone can go, and no fighting’s allowed.” Bobby sighed and drank deeply from his mug. “She’s a good woman, Dean.”

“But – shit, Dad _killed her husband_. I’m friends with Jo, Bobby! And my Dad murdered her father!”

“Hey, kid, calm down,” Bobby said with a frown. “She doesn’t know. And you’re not your father – you can’t be blamed for it, okay kid?”

Dean didn’t say anything.

“Dean,” Bobby sighed. “You can’t feel guilty for every piece of shit your Dad does. It’s not your fault. Just… be careful around both families, alright?”

“Dad works for the Masters, but I don’t – I – I don’t want to choose, Bobby,” Dean whispered.

“You live with me, kid, you won’t be forced to.”

“I need to spend time with Cas – can he come here?”

“Sure,” Bobby said. “If you invite him, he’s allowed. Now go do some homework, kid, then you can help me with dinner. Don’t bother with the garage tonight – Rufus was in today and so there isn’t much to do.”

Dean sighed but didn’t argue.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this wasn't in my plan. I started writing and thought, hey, I know what, let's screw the good, sensible plan you had Charlie and just write! So... this is the product. I hope you guys think they're in character. I also hope it makes sense.  
> It made sense in my head.

The next morning, Dean was half convinced he kept seeing John’s truck in the mirror on the drive to the school. Sam wasn’t talking to him – still pissed at him for refusing to talk about John the night before, when Dean had finally managed to stumble up to bed. Dean was nursing a stress-induced headache, having not slept much the night before; he’d been turning over the information that he had learnt in his mind.

He pulled into the parking lot with a sigh. As he turned the impala off, he swivelled to look at Sam. The boy looked morosely out the window, at the people passing the windows.

Dean sighed. “Sam, we need to talk.”

“Oh, now you want to talk?”

“When did you get so sarcastic?” Dean frowned at his brother. “Just – look, people are expecting you to choose a side. It’s pretty – dangerous. Just… be careful, okay?”

“You don’t need to keep repeating yourself, Dean,” Sam snapped. “I get it. Careful. Can I go now?”

“Sure,” Dean sighed, leaning back. Sam jumped out of the car without another word, and Dean followed him, locking the car behind him. He made his way to the school, nodding greetings to people. He noticed that some looked at him and smiled, and some ignored him or looked afraid of him. He wondered if their reactions were because of whose side they were on.

“Hey, Winchester!” The shout came just as he reached the steps. Dean turned around to see a man walking towards him, wearing a blazer over a V-neck t-shirt. He had blonde, tousled hair, and spoke with a British accent.

“Yeah?” Dean asked. Behind the man, Castiel was hurrying forwards, with Gabriel mooching along behind him.

“You’re Dean Winchester?” Dean nodded. “Huh. I thought you would be taller.”

He tried not to be offended by that. “And you are?”

“Balthazar Milton,” he proclaimed, not offering a hand. He was studying Dean, taking in every inch of him. One of the Miltons, huh? Dean wanted to run as far and fast as possible. “I hear that you’re my brother’s partner for this term in history?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, shoving his hands in his pockets as Castiel reached them, looking somewhere between apologetic and apoplectic. Dean hoped that he was angry at his brother, not Dean.

“Hm,” Balthazar said.

“Balthazar-” Castiel started, his voice a low growl.

“Hush, Castiel,” Balthazar said. “I just wanted to _meet_ him. The infamous John Winchester’s son… An honour, if I do say. Lovely bruising, by the way.”

Dean was nearly ready to punch this guy. “What do you want?”

“Not very friendly, is he?” Balthazar added. He glanced over Dean’s shoulder and Dean turned to see Jo, Andy and Ash approaching, frowning.

Balthazar stepped closer. “Listen closely, Dean,” he said in a low voice. “We don’t have much time. You need to learn to play the game a bit better. You’re little _show_ with Ruby last night brought you to the Masters attention and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean said quietly. “But I would _back off_ if I were you.”

“I’m just trying to help you, Dean,” Balthazar said, stepping even closer. They were right up in each other’s faces now, no more than an inch separating their noses, and Dean could see that he was worried beneath the smile. “If you bring any trouble on Castiel’s head, I will have yours.”

Dean laughed. “I should have known this was about Cas.”

“What did you expect?” Balthazar asked with a shrug, stepping back. “I’m no Samaritan, and he’s my family.”

“I’m not going to cause trouble, Balthazar,” Dean told him, straight-up. “I’m here till I graduate and I’m going to take care of my brother. That’s my only motive, okay? You want me to leave your family alone, I will. I’m not my father.”

Balthazar gave him an assessing look. “You know much about your father, boy?”

Gritting his teeth at the patronising tone, Dean said, “Everything.”

The man raised his eyebrows. “I doubt that. But don’t let me shatter the illusion – if you’re not like your father, I have no need to warn you off. Don’t draw attention to yourself, though – it’s not _smart_.”

“Balthazar,” Castiel cut in. “You being here is bringing attention to us-”

“I’m going,” he said. “Good morning, Joanna, Ash, other one. Be good, Castiel. Call if you need me.” Dean glanced back to see that his friends were right there with them.

“I won’t need you,” Castiel said and he sounded like a petulant child. Gabriel snorted beside him. “You should go before – oh.”

Before what? Dean wanted to ask, but then a limousine drew up outside the school. Dean raised his eyebrows, but Castiel shook his head quickly. A chauffeur got out and opened the door.

Ruby stepped out, and right behind her was an older man, dressed in black. He had dark hair and a bald patch. He looked first at the school, then over to them. He locked eyes with Balthazar for a second, glanced at Castiel, then moved on to inspect Dean with interest.

Two more men got out behind him and Dean recognised them. When two voices breathed the word, “Shit,” Dean was glad that he wasn’t alone in swearing. It only pissed him off a little bit that it was Balthazar who had the same reaction.

Alastair and Azazel flanked the man as he walked towards them. Ruby walked by their side, smiling, and stopped a little way off. She looked cruel and sadistic, and Dean wished that Sam was here to see it.

He wasn’t, but oh well.

Balthazar moved slightly to stand in front of Dean, which confused him for a minute, but then his friends were all closing ranks around him, like he needed to be protected. Fuck that. He didn’t need _protection_ from these fuckers.

The three men reached them and stopped a yard away, sizing up the competition.

“Step aside, boys,” the man in black said. The fucker was British too.

“Crowley,” Balthazar said, and Dean had another _oh shit fuck shit_ moment and was suddenly quite glad he had everyone standing around him as protection because this was _Crowley_ , quite possibly the most dangerous man he would ever meet. “How nice to see you.”

“I can’t say it’s a pleasure, Balthazar. What are you doing here anyway? I thought Michael would have you off, running some errand of his.” Crowley managed to sound patronising and earnest at the same time. Dean already hated him.

“I’m just looking out for our interests, Crowley, the same as you,” Balthazar replied with a smile – not that Dean could see him, mind, but he could hear the smile. “After all, this one is free meat.”

“For now,” Crowley said, smiling. “Dean Winchester, why don’t you come and have a chat? You’re John’s son, after all. He wouldn’t cower behind strangers.”

“I’m not cowering,” Dean replied, anger colouring his tone as he shoved out of the group. Castiel let out an audible groan. He looked Crowley up and down, just as he was being surveyed. “You’re Crowley.”

“You know of me?” Crowley sounded delighted. “Wonderful. I do so hate introductions.”

Dean shrugged, his hands in his pockets to stop them from clenching into fists. “Sure, I know all about you.”

“I do doubt that,” Crowley replied. “Won’t you come for a walk? I hear you’re a lot like your father – learned everything he knows, isn’t that right?”

Castiel shot him a surprised look from beside him.

“Sure,” Dean replied, going for blasé. “I know quite a bit, yeah. But I don’t really think walking with you is that good an idea, do you?”

Crowley cocked his head, a smile on his lips. “I think it’s a very good idea indeed, Dean. You have a brother, don’t you? Sam? Ruby was talking about him last night. Clever boy, from the sound of it.”

Dean stiffened at the threat. Castiel reached out and grabbed his wrist as he started forward, but he shrugged him off. “You want to talk?” he asked, angrily. “Sure. Let’s talk.”

The men smiled. “Good choice, Dean,” Alastair said.

“I knew he wasn’t stupid,” Azazel added.

“Dean-” Castiel started, trying again. “Dean, don’t-”

“It’s fine,” Dean said, glaring at Crowley. “I’m fine. You guys go on – tell Mr Walker that I’ll be a bit late. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Dean-”

“You heard the boy, Castiel,” Crowley interrupted. “He wants to talk. Come, walk with me, Dean.” Dean moved to his side, every muscle in his body tensing for a fight, and Crowley laughed. He placed an arm around Dean’s shoulders and began to guide Dean away.

Everyone in the parking lot was watching them. People already in the school were hanging out of windows to stare at them, and behind him he heard Balthazar hiss, “Stay where you _are_ , Castiel. There’s nothing you can do.”

“He’s my _friend_ ,” Cas hissed back and Dean almost spun back around to smile at him.

Crowley walked a little further, Alastair and Azazel following just behind them, before he stopped in front of the limousine. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to drive with me?”

“I’ve got school,” Dean replied calmly – or, well, going for calm. It wasn’t coming out that well, mainly because he was _shit scared_ and incredibly angry. Crowley had straight out threatened Sam.

“Of course,” the older man said, smiling. He turned to face Dean and looked up into his face, his smile absolutely infuriating. “Your academics are important to you?”

Dean wanted to say yes and tell him to shove it where the sun didn’t shine, but instead he shrugged.

“No,” Crowley said. “You’re not really a school person, are you Dean? I understand you’re a mechanic. And I hear from John that you’re a promising pupil.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean replied, still straining for a calm tone. “I like cars, yeah, but dad didn’t teach me shit about them.”

Crowley’s smile widened at his response, even as Alastair and Azazel edged closer to him. “Clever boy,” Crowley said. “You’ve already met Alastair and Azazel of course – they told me all about your meeting. So don’t play the fool with me, _boy_.” While Crowley was still outwardly smiling and looking peaceable, his voice radiated menace and Dean had to stop himself from cringing back.

“What do you want?” Dean asked quietly, needing to cut to the chase.

“This town,” Crowley replied with a shrug. “Money, power…”

“With me,” Dean cut in, wincing as the two men shifted even closer. He could feel hot breath on his neck and that was _creepy as fuck_. “What do you want with me?”

“An employee,” Crowley replied with a suave shrug. “You’re young and I want to stick it to the Miltons that, even though they saw you first, you’re allegiance is to me.”

“Why would I work with you?” Dean said, trying not to flinch at the sudden press of bodies behind him. They were holding him in place. He swallowed, sweat breaking out on his forehead – he could _feel_ it. “I’m – I’m with Bobby, Crowley. I don’t want a side in this war.”

“You insulted my daughter,” Crowley said, losing the smile. “You insulted _me_. You want to be neutral? Too late. You are either with me or against me now.” Before Dean could answer, Crowley turned around and Dean followed his gaze; Sam was standing by the doors to the school, Ruby on one side of him and Gabriel on the other. They were glaring at each other and Sam was watching Dean, looking frantic with worry.

“Don’t you fucking dare-” Dean hissed, stepping forwards. The threat was clear. Azazel and Alastair grabbed his arms, twisting them behind him in an arm-lock the second he moved. “Crowley, you _leave him alone-_ ”

“I wouldn’t tell me what to do if I were you, boy,” Crowley said, smiling. Sam was walking passed his friends, down the steps, towards Dean.

Shit. “You son of a bitch-”

“Insulting me really won’t help,” Crowley said, his smile back. “I want you to work for me. But mostly, I want you to know that if I say jump, you don’t even bother asking how high – you fucking act.” His words sounded so pleasant. “I want you to know that you are mine, or your brother… well. I hardly need to explain, do I?”

“You’re a _bastard_ ,” Dean hissed as Sam approached, but Castiel intercepted him, a hand on his shoulder. They were whispering fiercely, and Dean dragged his eyes back to Crowley.

Their eyes locked for a long minute and Dean had never felt more desperate. “I – I won’t kill, Crowley,” he whispered, fully knowing that he was giving in. “I _can’t_.”

“You’ll do what I tell you,” Crowley said, but stepped back, nodding for Dean to be let go.

He sagged and rubbed at his wrists, looking only at the floor. _Fuck_. This was so wrong.

“Don’t worry about it, Dean,” Alastair said into his ear. “You’re a bit young – untrained – at the moment.” Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam, Castiel and the others all hurrying forwards.

“We’ll be in touch,” Crowley said when they were in hearing distance and Castiel went white. “You’ve made the right choice.”

Dean laughed. “Wasn’t much of a choice, was it?”

“You still chose,” Crowley said. “Have a good day, Dean.”

 _Fuck_. Crowley got into the car, followed by Alastair and Azazel, and it drove off, leaving Dean standing there, surrounded by the friends he’d just betrayed pretty much.

Well. First things first.

He turned on Sam and said, “You are going _nowhere near_ Ruby _ever again_. Do you understand me, Samuel?”

Sam, pale with fear, nodded. “Okay, Dean. Are – are you alright?”

Dean swallowed, rubbing a hand through his hair, and managed to nod. “I’m fine,” he said.

“You _idiot_ ,” Balthazar seethed. “What did you agree to? Tell me!”

Dean held his ground. He was fed up of being pushed around. “I – just working for him, okay? I said I would work for him.”

“You _moron_!” Balthazar looked horrified. “What were you thinking?”

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel muttered. Behind him, Jo looked sick. Andy and Ash were pale and Chuck – who had appeared out of nowhere – and Becky were frowning anxiously.

No one was as anxious as Sam, who ran at his brother and threw his arms around him, a sign of public affection that Sam hadn’t used in years.

Dean sighed and hugged his brother to him. “I’m fine, Sammy. Everything’s going to be fine-”

“Everything’s going to be fine? _Everything’s going to be fine_? You’re and _idiot_! A _cretin_!” Balthazar sounded incredulous as he repeated Dean’s words. “Do you understand what he’s going to make you do? Do you know that he’s-”

“Going to turn me into a killer?” The words shut everyone up. “Yeah. I get that. But I’ve bought us some time, haven’t I? By playing along?” Balthazar blinked, and Castiel began to smile, pride and shock spreading slowly across his face.

“Playing – you were _playing_ , Winchester?” Balthazar grinned. “Oh, I _like_ you.”

“I don’t want to work for the Miltons either,” Dean pointed out. “I think you’re all as bad as each other.” If he was expecting the Miltons present to be offended, he would be disappointed. Balthazar laughed and Castiel just nodded, as if he had a point. Gabriel – who had joined them a little after Sam – smirked. “But… Fuck, I don’t know. I guess I can pull Sam out. We’ll go somewhere-”

“Leaving won’t help, Dean,” Castiel told him. “The Masters have business all over the country. You won’t be safe anywhere-”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered, looking at Sam. It looked more and more likely that he was going to be a bloody contract killer. Sometimes, he hated his life.

“Except – here, we can protect you,” Castiel said, cutting into the minor freak out that Dean was having inside his head. “We’ll make it clear that everyone is to back off, if you want. Put you on the pay roll, so to speak.”

“Isn’t it a bit late for that?” Dean asked, looking around as people began moving again. Sam was still hugging him tightly and Dean patted his head. “I sort of agreed.”

Castiel exchanged a look with his elder brother and Balthazar frowned. “I can speak to Michael. He’ll probably be irritated that I’m bothering him but when he hears that it’s John Winchester’s _son-_ ”

Dean really hated his father.

“-He’ll probably organise something. You’re a mechanic?”

Dean nodded. “Look, you don’t have to look after me, but Sam-”

“It’s no trouble,” Balthazar lied. “A friend of Castiel’s, after all. Give me your phone number – I’ll make a call and get back to you. You should all be in class, after all. The bell went during your – meeting.”

Dean dictated the number into Balthazar’s phone – the newest iPhone, of course – and managed to get Sam to let go of him enough to walk inside. He glanced between Gabriel and Sam and sighed.

“Hey, Sammy,” he whispered, crouching down a little to be able to look his brother in the eye. One day, he was sure, Sam would shoot up. “You stick with Gabriel, alright? Ignore Ruby, but don’t be rude. Just – try and keep a lot of space between you and her, okay?”

“I’ll look after him, Dean,” Gabriel said with a smug smile. “Come on, Sasquatch. We’re late enough as it is.”

Sam hesitated, but Dean shooed him away with a smile. Then he looked at Castiel, who was watching him with a blank face that didn’t quite hide his worry.

“I… thanks,” Dean finally said. “For – you know. Calling me a friend, I guess.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and added, “I wasn’t ever going to actually work for him, you know.”

Castiel smiled and said, “I know, Dean. You are much too good a person to work for Crowley. We’ll look after you.”

Dean tried not to show how effeminate he felt at the idea of being looked after; he should really be grateful after all. So he managed a smile and said, “Thanks.”

“Oh, come on you idiots,” Jo said, stalking off. “We’re late and Walker’s going to kill us.”


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I re-read it and realised that I've made loads of grammatical mistakes that made me go red with embarrassment and wince. And then I yelled at myself mentally.  
> Pamela is the history teacher, for those who may be confused about me calling her a Lit teacher in chapter two. Sorry. I changed that.  
> Also, my plan is so screwed up now... oh well. Means to and end, right?

Dean was on edge all morning, constantly checking his phone, until even Castiel was throwing him irritated looks. Jo had been snapping at him every time he did it since first period, Andy was ignoring him and Ash was trying to open a pool on when Balthazar was going to phone.

“For heaven’s sake, Dean,” Castiel finally snapped as they left the classroom for lunch. “Would you please stop that? Balthazar will phone and you will pick it up. Checking your phone every two minutes will _not_ make it happen any faster-”

The ringing of a phone cut him off and Dean fumbled to open the phone, making Jo groan in frustration beside him.

“Hello?” he finally managed.

“Dean Winchester?” a man’s voice said, sounding smooth and deep. Authority dripped off his tongue so clearly that Dean could hear it in those two words.

“Speaking,” Dean answered, leaning against a wall. Cas, Jo, Andy and Ash all stopped to wait for him. Chuck and Becky were off somewhere, canoodling or whatever the hell they did – Dean couldn’t bear to think of those two actually making out, so he was stuck with words like ‘canoodling’. What the hell did that even mean?

“My name is Michael Milton,” the man said, and Dean had another _holy shit_ moment because it was actually Michael on the phone to him. “I understand that you’re having some problems with a man named Crowley.”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said, hating himself for how ridiculous he sounded. “I mean, yes, sir.”

He could hear the amusement in Michael’s voice as he spoke again. “You’re a friend of my brother, Castiel, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said again.

“Are you with him now?”

“Yes, sir,” he said, glancing at Cas, who was watching him curiously. “Do you want to speak with him?”

“No, Dean, that’s quite alright,” Michael said. “I want to tell you that you have the Milton’s protection from now on – you and your brother, but we cannot help him if he continues to be associated with Ruby Masters.”

“I understand, sir,” Dean said, hardly believing his luck. “Thank you, sir.”

“You understand that, while everyone else will leave you alone, this may only prove as a deterrent to Crowley?” Michael asked. Down the phone, a door opened and Michael said, “Ah, thank you, Tessa. Send him right in – I’m almost done. Dean,” he added, back into the phone. “Keep this number. Balthazar will text you his as well. If you ever see Crowley again, phone one of us and we’ll come and get you.”

“Isn’t there something you want in return?” Dean couldn’t help but ask.

Michael laughed. “Oh, Dean. Don’t you ever do something just to spite someone else? Crowley loves his pets and I rather enjoy getting in his way.” Wow, way to make Dean feel like a pawn – well, at least he knew where he stood. “I enjoyed our chat, Dean. You’re an interesting person. I expect you for dinner at the Miltons on Sunday; do tell Castiel. Goodbye, Dean.”

“Goodbye,” Dean replied, but he was already gone. He swallowed, taking the phone away from his ear, and keyed the number into his contacts, under Michael Milton. Holy shit. Weird conversation.

“What did he say?” Castiel demanded quickly. “Who – who was it?”

“Michael,” Dean replied. “And he said that he expected me for dinner on Sunday.”

Castiel’s jaw dropped open and Jo whispered under her breath, “Son of a _bitch_.”

“What?” Dean asked, pocketing the phone.

“No one has ever been invited to the Miltons’ house, Dean,” Andy explained, raising his eyebrows. “Especially not my Michael Milton _himself_.”

“In fact, no one ever speaks with Michael – it’s usually Raphael or Balthazar or someone who brings his messages, right Cas?” Jo added, looking impressed. “You must be really interesting.”

Castiel didn’t look happy or impressed. He looked _scared_ for a second, before he managed a smile. “Of course Dean is interesting, Joanna. No one else has come to quite so many people’s attention quite so quickly. Shall we go to lunch?”

Castiel rushed them on without another word, but Dean caught his arm in the queue. “Cas, is everything okay?”

“Of course, Dean-”

“Only you’re acting a bit worried,” Dean said. “I don’t have to come to dinner if you’re uncomfortable-”

Cas shot him a wide-eyed look. “You can’t turn down an invitation from Michael, Dean. I’m not worried about that – I am sure you’re manners will manage just fine – but I do wonder what he wants.”

Dean swallowed but said, “That’s not for you to worry about, Cas. That’s for me to worry about. Don’t freak out; it’ll all be fine.” Dean wondered when he got so good at lying, then remembered that he had been all his life.

Cas still shot him a disbelieving look and sighed. “Promise me that you will be careful from now on, Dean,” he said. “Not everyone is going to back down just because Michael says so. Crowley’s not afraid of him.”

“I know,” Dean said quietly. “But I’m not afraid of Crowley.”

“You should be,” Castiel said, and they picked up their lunches and walked to the table. “Shall we work on our history project tonight? Gabriel and Sam seem to be getting along better now.”

Dean said, “Yeah, sounds good.” He looked over to where Sam and Gabriel were sitting with Jess and Ava, laughing about something or other and smiled. He really hoped that him fucking up royally with Crowley wasn’t going to get Sam hurt.

“So, I was thinking that we could cover why prohibition was introduced tonight,” Castiel suggested. “And then we need to look at the problems caused by it-”

“Gangsters,” Dean interrupted, smirking, and Cas got the joke. He rolled his eyes as they slid into seats with the others.

“They’re not _gangsters_ , Dean. But yes, haha, very funny.”

Dean was starting to like it when Castiel got sarcastic. “You have to admit, it’s a bit ironic that _we_ got Prohibition as a topic,” he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “I mean, you and me, getting prohibition. It’s like Pamela planned it.”

“It was completely random, Dean,” Cas said with a sigh, while Jo guffawed into her burger and Chuck and Becky slid into their seats. “A coincidence.”

“No such thing as a coincidence, mi amigo,” Ash said from the other end of the table. “Pamela is trying to throw the two of you together and get you to overcome the differences in your family.”

“It’s like a lovely, modern-day, homosexual Romeo and Juliet,” Jo suggested, grinning evilly. “You two think you’re up for it?”

Dean rolled his eyes, but Cas went pale and stuttered for a second. Dean raised an eyebrow. “Cas, she’s only joking.”

“I’m not _gay_ ,” he muttered, glaring at Jo. That was quite an emphatic response, Dean thought, but then he added, “Homosexuality is a _sin_ , Joanna.”

Ah. Dean swallowed, suddenly feeling a lot worse. A rush of blood pounded through his ears and he remembered every insult his father threw at him that day he found him with another guy's cock down his throat. _Pansy. Faggot. Fairy. Sick, perverted, twisted freak_. He hadn’t given Dean the time to explain before he was throwing punches and the guy got away pretty quickly.

It wasn’t like Dean was doing it for fun – John had been away for two weeks, leaving Sam and Dean all alone. Dean had been fourteen and pretty, and Sam was only just ten, hungry and scared. John hadn’t left enough money and Dean couldn’t get away with begging anymore – too adult, too pretty. It was a compromise and one Dean was willing to make in order to feed Sam, though he knew he wouldn’t eat anything after he did it. And John had ruined it, called him a freak and a disappointment and thrown him back inside. Sam had gone hungry that night after all.

Dean scraped a hand through his hair and refused to meet anyone’s eyes. It went very quiet, and Cas was flushed red at the thought.

How do you answer that? _Yeah, Cas, homosexuality is definitely sinful. By the way, I used to partake in gay sex to pay for my brother’s food when John – you know, the contract killer who works for your enemies – left us alone too long. Also, I kind of fancy boys sometimes and I have the hots for you._

Somehow, Dean assumed that would go down about as well as turning to Jo and saying ‘ _by the way, my Dad killed your Dad’_ would.

“So, you’re homophobic, then?” Jo said, breaking the silence but not the tension. “That’s awkward. Right. Note to self: don’t make jokes about Dean and Cas having sex.”

“ _Jo_ ,” Dean hissed, glaring at her. “Would you quit?”

“Uh,” Becky interrupted. “What’s wrong with gay people?”

“Homosexuality is a sin,” Cas said, sounding tense and worried. “If a man is gay he should abstain and be celibate. I have no problem with gay people.”

Dean wanted to call complete bullshit, but he didn’t get the chance. “Bullshit,” Jo said, glaring at him. “You clearly have a problem with gay people, Cas, which is bizarre since it’s not like gay people choose to be gay, is it?”

“If god made them gay, then how is that a sin?” Andy asked, chewing on a chip. “We are the way we are.”

“God sends us trials and we must resist temptation,” Castiel replied, but he sounded less sure. It was a sound argument, after all.

“Are you telling us or asking us, Cas?” Jo asked, frowning at her friend. “And are you saying what you believe, or the words that Michael has shoved down your throat.”

Cas hissed – actually hissed – and glared at her. Dean figured it was high time to step in.

“Right,” he said loudly, causing everyone to look at him. “How long do you reckon it’s going to take for us to do our project tonight, Cas?” Castiel looked at him, confused. “I’ve got to work in the garage tonight, too, and we’ve got other work. And I’ve got to make dinner for Sam and Bobby – it’s my night. You and Gabe are welcome to stay for dinner, by the way.” He was fully aware that he was babbling, but Castiel looked gratefully at him so he figured it was a good thing. “It probably won’t be much – I’m not exactly a gourmet chef – but I can whip up some stuff.”

“Ooh, a man that cooks, hey Dean?” Jo smiled and leant over the table suggestively. “He’s handsome, good with his hands and he cooks, Becky. What _are_ we going to do with him?”

Becky giggled and Dean smirked at Jo, instinctively flirting back. “Oh, please Harvelle. You wouldn’t know what to do with me if you had me.”

“You wanna try me, big boy?” she asked, winking.

Dean laughed and everyone except Castiel joined in, breaking the tension properly. “Jo, you wouldn’t be able to handle me. Trust me.”

She smirked. “Sounds like you’re scared, Dean. It sounds like you’re the one running.”

“Eesh, would you two kindly stop flirting?” Andy interrupted, biting into another chip. “I’m trying to eat, here.”

“It is kinda gross,” Ash added. He slurped on his milkshake and smiled. “Besides, Jo, Ellen hasn’t met Dean yet. I don’t think she’ll approve.”

Dean rolled his eyes to hide the twinge of shame he felt. Yeah, he wasn’t in a rush to meet Ellen Harvelle and face the woman whose husband was murdered by his father.

His stomach was still turning over as he teased and laughed his way through the rest of lunch. If anyone noticed that he didn’t eat much, no one said anything.

 

* * *

 

After school let out, Dean and Cas made their way through the halls to where Gabe and Sam were standing, chatting with Ava and Jess. Ruby was standing on the other side of the hall, throwing looks at Sam, who was trying to ignore her.

God, Dean just hoped he would keep ignoring her.

“You ready to go?” Dean asked as they looked up. “Gabe’s gonna come over since Cas and I have to work.”

Gabe grinned at Sam, who smiled back, looking actually happy about it. “Good,” Sam said. “I don’t know about you, Gabe, but I have to work on that French-”

“Gabriel is fluent in French,” Castiel said. “He would be happy, I’m sure, to assist you. Shall we?”

“Sure,” Dean said and they walked outside. A thought struck him and he turned to Cas, asking, “Hey, do you guys have a car or shall I give you a lift?”

Cas shifted, uncomfortable, and replied, “Balthazar drove us this morning-”

“Cool,” Dean interrupted him, smiling easily. “You’re going to have to call shotgun if you want to sit in the front, though,” he added under his breath as they approached the impala.

Cas shot him a confused look and asked, “What?”

“Just yell ‘shotgun’,” Dean supplied.

After a second longer, Castiel said, “I – shotgun!” Sam groaned aloud and Gabe sighed, turning to glare at his brother.

“Do you even know what that _is_?” he asked.

“No,” Castiel replied. “But Dean instructed me that I was supposed to say it if I wished to sit in the front seat. Did I do it incorrectly?”

Dean struggled not to burst out laughing and said, “Yeah, Cas. You did just fine.” He unlocked the impala as Sam climbed into the back, grumbling with Gabriel about older brothers.

“At least yours is cool, Sam,” Gabe said. “And you only have one to put up with. I’ve got Michael, Raphael and Balthazar as well as Cas. And Lucifer, but he buggered off ages ago, so at least I don’t have to deal with him. _And_ I’ve got Anna, who’s incredibly annoying. Girls – _urgh_.”

Dean smirked and started the car. As they drove off, he said, “So you don’t really like girls then, Gabe?”

Cas glanced at Dean in question as Gabe answered, “Well, Ava and Jess aren’t too annoying, but mostly – no. Have you _seen_ some of them? Like Lisa Braeden. She’s such a slut!”

“She’s not a slut,” Dean muttered. “She could be if she wanted to, though.” He grinned at Cas. “I heard she does yoga, you know. You interested?”

“Hm?” his friend asked. “I don’t think I would enjoy yoga.”

Dean had to bite his lip from guffawing. “I – I didn’t mean the yoga. I meant-” He snorted.

“He meant are you interested in sleeping with Lisa,” Sam said from the back, exasperation colouring his tone. “Honestly, Dean, you’re such a kid.”

“That’s coming from one,” he shot back. “But really, Cas, you’ve got to think she’s hot.”

“Do I?” Cas frowned. “I’ve never really thought about it. I guess she is pretty.”

Okay. That was the least heterosexual answer Dean had ever heard. “What about you, Gabe? You think she’s a slut – that mean she’s not pretty?”

“I don’t think anyone’s pretty,” Gabe muttered sullenly. “She’s a cow, anyway. She was really horrid to Balthazar last year.”

“That’s not the whole story, is it Gabriel?” Cas asked, and he sounded amused. Dean shot him a look and he explained. “Balthazar had a one night stand with her and didn’t call her back. So she told the entire school that he was gay.”

“He didn’t say she was wrong, which got back to Michael and there was this huge argument. I got sent out of the room for most of it, though,” Gabriel muttered with a sigh. “But Cas was there. You tell them what happened!”

Cas swallowed audibly, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “There’s nothing to tell. Michael asked him if it was true, Balthazar said no and it went away.”

“So why were you guys talking for like two hours?” Gabriel shot back, frowning. “Liar, liar pants on fire.”

“Gabriel-” Castiel started but Dean interrupted, switching the subject.

“So you know we live with Bobby Singer, right?” He just said the first thing that came into his head; meanwhile, his mind was working overtime. Arguments about homosexuality that lasted two hours. Again the mentions of a homophobic big brother. Castiel not showing any attraction to women.

Huh.

“Well, he’s a bit gruff sometimes,” Dean said when they looked at him curiously. “I mean, he’s a nice guy but – well, just. Yeah. Be polite I guess. Not that you guys aren’t, but – just don’t be offended if he grunts and ignores you.”

“Sounds like Bobby,” Sam muttered and Dean chuckled.

“He cannot be worse than how my family are going to act around you, Dean,” Castiel replied. “I am sure we will manage.”

“How our family’s going to act around Dean?” Gabriel repeated, leaning forwards. “When exactly is this?”

“Dean’s been invited to Sunday dinner,” Cas said and Gabe went very quiet, sitting back. No one said anything for a minute – because hell, this was _weird_. Why was everyone freaking out about it?

“Yeah, about that,” Dean said, pulling into the drive. “There’s not a dress code or something, is there?”

“Do you own a suit?” Cas asked and Dean almost choked.

“Uh, no,” he replied.

“Ah,” Cas said. “Then – well, as smart as you can dress. Balthazar will probably wear something along the lines of what he was wearing today. I’m sure that I can seat you beside him and you will look smart.”

Dean didn’t know whether to be offended or grateful, so he settled for a snort. “Right.” He stopped the car and jumped out.

When they got inside, Bobby was sitting at his desk, sorting through some papers.

“Hey, Bobby,” Dean said, poking his head inside. “You want coffee?”

“What sort of idjit question is that, boy?” Bobby answered and Dean laughed.

“Cas and Gabe are here, and Crowley wants me dead.” He figured it was easier to say it quickly.

“Uh huh,” Bobby said, still reading, and Dean left him to it. He managed to get down the hall before he head Bobby yell, “WHAT?!”

Then an angry middle-aged man was barrelling down the hall towards the kitchen and Dean was receiving an earful of abuse for being a ‘feckin’ idjit’ and how was Bobby supposed to deal with an idjit like him? Which was a fair question, really, because Dean was a bit of an idiot.

He put the coffee on. Sam and Gabe were sitting at the kitchen table, getting work out, while Gabe stared curiously at Bobby. Cas was leaning awkwardly against the counter, watching Dean work with a frown on his face.

Dean didn’t interrupt Bobby as he ranted because he figured he deserved it.

“… And now you go and talk to feckin’ Crowley after I _told_ you to go nowhere near him – are you listening to me, boy?”

“Yup,” Dean said, popping coffee into the pot. “But I sorted it – or, well, Balthazar did.”

There was a deadly silence, which was only broken when Bobby heaved himself into a chair and said, “I think you better explain yourself to me right now.”

So the confrontation with Crowley came spilling out of Dean’s lips as he made coffee, along with Balthazar’s words and Michael’s phone call – and the invitation to dinner. Bobby sat quietly throughout it, not reacting, until Dean was finished. The five of them sat, drinking coffee – though Dean had been hesitant to give Gabriel the caffeine, he could hardly give Sam some and not him – and thinking for a moment, until Cas brought out their books and they began to work.

Bobby watched them for a few minutes more, before he disappeared back to his study.

Dean and Cas worked till five thirty, when he got up to go and ask Bobby what he wanted for dinner. He was about to knock on the door when he heard Bobby’s voice and realised he was on the phone.

Dean wasn’t eavesdropping – not really.

“Michael,” Bobby growled. “What do you want with the boy? He’s not his father and he won’t do what his father does.” There was a pause as Michael replied. “I don’t care what you think he’s capable of, he’s just a child!” Pause. “He’s not a weapon, Michael.” Pause. A growl, then, “You listen here, Michael Milton. Your daddy was a friend of mine and while he may not have been the most moral person I’ve ever met he would not have used eighteen year-old kids to do his dirty work. I don’t know what’s happened to you, but you used to be a good kid.” Pause. “You’ve given him protection.” The words came out of Bobby’s mouth like they had a bad taste. “And he’s accepted. Michael, he doesn’t know what that means-”

Dean flinched as a hand clamped onto his shoulder and looked at Cas, who was staring at him with his head tilted to the side as if Dean was the biggest question he’d ever met. Dean sighed and stepped back.

They hesitated outside of the kitchen and Dean muttered, “Something’s going on and I don’t get it. I hate being used.” Cas sighed and said nothing. “Look, I get it, I do – they’re your family and I’m a stranger. But Cas – this is fucked up, man. I don’t want to kill anyone, not for Crowley and not for your brother.”

Cas set his jaw and grabbed Dean’s arm, forcing him to face him. “Dean Winchester, I promise you that no one will make you kill anyone – I’m going to protect you.” Dean blinked, completely taken aback, and Cas slipped into the kitchen without another word.

Huh.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, sorry for the slow update. I go to boarding school and I've been there since Sunday so I hope you'll forgive me for waiting all week to post this. I'm in the process of writing chapter seven.  
> (Also, and I mean this mostly for my tumblr-readers, please don't hate me for this bit.)

They didn’t mention the dinner again until Friday. They didn’t talk about the feud – or whatever the hell it was supposed to be – either. In fact, all week, Dean and Cas simply spent time together, getting to know each other. Cas liked all kinds of music, but had never listened to Led Zeppelin – how that was even possible, Dean didn’t know – so they spent an evening (when they should have been working) introducing Cas to ‘proper music’. Cas made Dean read Orwell’s 1984 and, while he was only a few chapters in, Dean had to admit he was interested.

Jo teased Dean about it, but not in Castiel’s hearing anymore and when she did, Dean changed the subject pretty quickly. He sort of got why Cas was so awkward about it now – after the story of Balthazar, Dean got that it was a family thing. Well, after all, Dean got that too. Totally. Family pressure was pretty hard to overcome.

As Friday dawned, Cas seemed tenser than usual, jumping at every loud noise and fidgeting non-stop. By lunch, Jo drew Dean aside and said, “Winchester, you have to make it stop.”

“Make what stop?” Dean was a little nonplussed, even if he guessed what Jo was talking about.

“Your boyfriend,” she replied and Dean scowled at her. “Just – he’s never like this and it’s stressing me out. Talk to him or something, okay?”

“Why me?” he asked, and he had a point. “I’ve known him for a week!”

“Yeah, and you’re closer to him than any of us have ever been,” she pointed out and, to be fair, she totally had a point too. “I mean, you call him ‘Cas’. None of us ever called him Cas before you came.”

Dean sighed but said, “Alright. I’ll talk to him.”

“Thank God,” she muttered and turned her back on him, sliding in between Andy and Ash with a flirty smile. “What are you boys chatting about?”

Dean turned his attention to Cas, who had sat his chair a little further away than usual today, and moved to a chair next to him, and clicked his fingers under his nose.

Cas jolted, head snapping up to glare at Dean, who smiled. “Hey,” he said, and Cas nodded. Dean sighed and said, “Alright, spill.”

“I’m sorry?” Cas asked, confused. He even glanced around to check if he’d spilt something, the poor bastard.

“I mean _talk_ to me, Cas, damn it,” Dean said. “Something’s clearly bothering you and I’m going to hazard a guess that it’s me coming for dinner on Sunday. So just – tell me how to act or something. Should I bring wine?”

“No,” Cas said, eyes wide. “We don’t drink – but flowers would be nice for Rachel. That’s Michael’s wife. And – be early. Being late would really make Michael hate you. Maybe I should pick you up?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Dean said, interrupting the spill of words. “I don’t actually know where you live.”

“Oh, yes,” Cas said, nibbling on his lower lip, eyebrows pulled into a frown that Dean wanted to wipe away. “I will. Dinner begins at seven on the dot, but guests – not that there ever are any – are expected to arrive at six thirty. I’ll come and collect you at six, so be ready.”

“Cas, why are you so freaked out about this?” Dean asked. “It’s not that important whether your family likes me or not, is it?”

Clearly it was. Castiel looked horrified at the very idea. “Dean, if you offend Michael he’ll withdraw his protection from you and Crowley will snap you up immediately,” he whispered, his low voice even deeper as he leant towards Dean. “I – it will be very difficult to protect you if you don’t admit you need protecting. Be grateful to Michael – I know that it goes against your very being to express gratitude and a need for help but if you don’t…”

“Cas, I just want to be left alone,” Dean muttered, dropping his head onto the table with a groan.

“I know,” Castiel replied, sighing. “I wish I could make that happen for you Dean. It’s not fair for you to be going through this after everything.”

“Huh?” Dean asked, glancing up. “What do you mean?”

Cas blinked. “I – your family…”

“Cas?” Dean frowned because he _really_ hadn’t mentioned his family. Once. In the past week. So how would Cas know anything? “What’ve you heard?”

Cas shrugged, eyes raking over the barely-there bruise. “I – look, Dean, I didn’t mean anything.”

“Sure you did, or you wouldn’t have said it.” Dean’s voice was louder than he meant it to be and the others around them looked up and took notice. “Go on. If you have something to say about my family, then please – be my guest.”

“Dean,” Cas said, clearly uncomfortable. “Please. I didn’t mean anything-”

“Just. Say. It.” Dean’s voice was aggressive but he really couldn’t help it. “I mean it, Cas. Well, I mean, you’re one to talk about _family_ , aren’t you? Got something to say about mine?”

“Dean, leave my family out of this,” Castiel said, and that was damn close to anger. “I didn’t mean anything. Let it go.”

“How about _no_ ,” Dean answered, gritting his teeth in an approximation of a smile. “You got something to say, say it.”

“For heaven’s sake, Dean!” Cas looked about ready to explode. “I only meant that you’ve already lost one of your parents, and it looks like you’re about to lose another to our feud!”

Dean fell silent, staring in shock at Cas, who just looked guilty. “I – that is, Dean-”

“No,” Dean said. “How the fuck do you know about my Mum? And what the hell do you mean about my Dad?”

“Dean – if we offer protection to someone, we want to know everything about them-” Cas was trying to reason with him, but Dean was having none of it.

“Sure, Michael might,” Dean said. “But why would you know unless you looked it up? Been snooping, Cas?”

“No, Dean!” Cas looked so aghast at the idea that Dean felt guilty for a second. “Balthazar told me. He wanted to warn me-”

“Warn you?” Dean asked. “About me? Why exactly should he be warning you away from me?” He didn’t know why he was so angry, but he _was_. He couldn’t help it.

“Please, Dean,” Cas said, shooting nervous looks around them as more and more people began to pay attention. Even Sam and Gabe had sat up to take notice and they were on the other side of the room. “I didn’t mean to make it out like that. Balthazar only wished to inform me that you – had – family… issues.”

“Family issues,” Dean hissed, seething. “I don’t have fucking family issues, Cas. You have family issues.”

“Dean-”

“No, really, I mean it. Because I can say a whole host about your family and I haven’t even met them – _or looked them up_. This is just going on how fucked up you are.”

“Dean!” Thank fuck – someone finally interceded. “That’s enough.” Jo was standing there, hands on hips. “God, boys are such _idiots_. Andy, take Dean outside and cool him off. Come on, Cas. Let’s go to the library.”

Dean only vaguely realised that somehow both Cas and he were on their feet, glaring into each other’s faces. Andy gripped Dean’s arm and tugged him away, and the movement jolted Dean out of his daze. Sudden guilt ripped through him and his mind went _oh shit_.

“Cas, I-”

“Fuck off, Dean,” Cas replied. Dean wondered if that was the first time Cas had ever sworn. “I was trying to _help_.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Come on, Dean,” Andy muttered. “Do this later. Let’s go.” Dean let Andy guide him outside without another protest, although he craned his neck around to watch Cas. He didn’t walk away, just stood there, staring at Dean, anger on his face but – well, heartbreak in his eyes.

Dean would _never_ admit to thinking that.

Andy led him down the corridor and out of the back doors, onto the steps that led down to the playing fields, and sighed. “What the hell was that, Dean?”

Dean shrugged, leaning against the wall. Andy got out a cigarette – Dean hadn’t realised he smoked – and offered one to Dean.

“I’m good, thanks,” Dean said, shaking his head. He studied his hands as Andy smoked, both of them falling quiet. He felt incredibly guilty as he stood there; what the hell had made him say that shit? He didn’t actually think it. He just – he just _struck out_ against any form of friendliness or emotional connection or shit. Cas had been trying to be _nice_ to him and he’d thrown it in his face.

Dean had to face it: he’d probably lost his father a long time ago, maybe when Mary died and he went completely loco. But John had been walking and talking, a somewhat constant presence in Dean’s life since then – somewhat, as he left often enough on work and Dean had had to handle a kid since he _was_ one. The first time John left them was when Dean was six, for fuck’s sake – Sam had been two.

What sort of Dad did that? Sure, he was only away for a day – not even a night – but Dean had no way of looking after a two year-old. He could barely look after _himself._

Dean sighed, shaking the thoughts away. He didn’t care, he reminded himself. He _liked_ looking after Sammy – anyway, that was his job.

He glanced at Andy and said, “Do you have a family?” He’d never asked before and he wondered why, but then he realised he’d practically spent all week with Cas. He’d been avoiding Jo whenever he could because she kept hinting she wanted him to meet Ellen, so he guess he had a bit of an excuse but – well, Cas was his best friend and what the hell was Dean doing now?

“Sure,” Andy said. “I’ve got a twin brother. He’s crazy though – dropped out of school, works for Crowley. Tried to kill anyone I spoke to for a few weeks last year, till I got picked up by Castiel. He made sure that I was protected and my brother got caught. He went to prison, if you’re wondering – well, a mental health place thing.”

“Cas likes picking up strays, huh?” Dean laughed, smiling at Andy.

“You haven’t even heard the start of it,” the boy replied, stubbing out his cigarette. “Ash is an orphan and he was living on the streets a couple years back. Castiel found him and saved his life – he’d got on the wrong side of Meg Masters, I don’t know if you know her-”

“We’ve met,” Dean said quietly, supressing a shudder.

“Yeah,” Andy said, eying him. “I reckon you probably have. Well, she burnt down the shelter he was living at, but Castiel got him out of there the day before, thank fuck. Ash lives with the Harvelles now – and isn’t _that_ a story to tell.”

“Oh?” Dean asked, even though his stomach twisted at the idea of talking about Jo’s family. “What happened?”

Andy scratched his nose and sighed. “Well, Jo’s dad, Will, used to work for the Miltons. That’s why Jo’s close to Cas – they’ve been friends since they were kids. But Will got killed on the job – some guy who worked for Crowley ganked him, you know? Really violently too. Made a right mess of Will’s body, _and_ he left a message for whoever found him. _‘I’m coming for you_ ’ apparently. Jo was the one who found the body and – well, she went batshit, decided that she was going to work for the Miltons too and find the guy who did it.

“Cas stepped in and organised it so that everyone left the Harvelles alone. He managed to talk to Crowley as well – and remember, this was way back when he was a young teenager – and the old guy agreed that the Harvelles got a free pass from then on. Ellen took it and she became another side in the war, pretty much – like Bobby Singer.” Andy stopped and sighed.

“What _did_ happen with Bobby, anyway?” Dean asked.

“I don’t really know,” he said, shrugging. “All I know is that Bobby’s wife, Karen, died and Bobby got dangerous. Everyone leaves him alone because he’s just as deadly as Michael and Crowley – he just doesn’t use it as often.”

“Huh,” Dean muttered. He glanced around the school grounds and wondered how the hell such a little town could be the centre of the biggest gang-fight since Al Capone. Really. It was a pretty shit town, all considered.

“And then there’s Chuck,” Andy said, bringing Dean’s attention back to him. “He doesn’t have much of a family either. His Mum’s a drug addict – got in deep with Crowley and tried to sell him her son to get by. Castiel was already friends with Chuck and he offered to help. Sent Chuck’s mum to rehab – she’s still there, you know – and Chuck has their protection.” Andy sighed. “Becky… well, she did something stupid, insulted Meg Masters – not unlike you and Ruby, you know – and Cas offered to protect her if she never spoke to them again. She agreed.”

“So, you all have Cas’ protection?” Dean asked, trying to figure that out.

“Sure,” Andy told him. “I mean, most of us were friends with him first, but everyone in this town needs protection now and again. Most of them get it either straight from one of the big brothers – but they want stuff in return – or from Crowley and his lot. Loads of people say Michael’s just as bad as Crowley, which is why everyone’s so worried about you – it’s not Cas who’s protecting you, after all.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean muttered. “’Cause Crowley wanted me and that’s above Cas’ pay-grade?”

“Something like,” Andy agreed. “I don’t really know how it works. But Cas doesn’t want anything in return when he helps people – literally, he doesn’t even make them hang around with him. He just likes to help.”

“I’m such a douchebag,” Dean groaned and Andy laughed.

“Yeah, you are,” he said, suddenly turning serious. “Alright, Dean, listen up. You might have daddy issues, but so does Cas and _his_ dad walked out on him. Now, I don’t know shit about your family, but I hear that you and Sam walked out on your dad. Cas didn’t get the chance – his dad just upped and disappeared, leaving Cas to face the music, trying to protect Gabe from his big brothers. Now, I’m not saying shit about Michael – never met him – but Balthazar is crazy as hell and is as self-serving too, and Raphael is just _nasty_. Last year, Cas came to school with bruises all over him – just like you did first day, but worse – and refused to say a word, but I got Gabe to talk. Said there’d been an argument the night before about gay people and Balthazar looked worse, you get me?”

Yeah, Dean got him. “So… I should probably not talk about my raging homosexuality at dinner on Sunday?” Okay, he should really quit it with the joke-reflex thing.

Andy rolled his eyes. “You are such a dickhead.”

Dean shrugged. “I am what I am. I should go apologise to Cas.”

“I don’t think he’ll want to hear it, but you can try,” Andy said, and they clapped hands.

“Thanks man,” Dean said. “I’ve – I guess you gave me a load more answers just then than anyone has all week.”

Andy smirked, then wiped his face clean and looked at him oh-so-innocently. “Sorry? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just telling you some stories from when we were kids.”

“I get you,” Dean said, smiling. “Catch you later, Gallagher.”

“Keep it real, Winchester,” Andy replied, grinning, and Dean pushed his way inside. The bell rang as he did so and he sighed – he’d have to talk to Castiel later, but at least he could make sorry faces at him and send him notes throughout History – it wasn’t like he could avoid him. They were partners, after all.

Yeah. Cas couldn’t avoid him – but he could ignore him. And he did, the entire way through history, no matter how many ‘sorry’ notes that Dean wrote (nine, if you’re interested, and he only stopped because Pamela had a go at him for it and almost read them out). Cas didn’t even _look_ at him once, so apologetic looks didn’t work either.

After Lit – their last class – Cas ran off and Dean was left in his dusty trail, totally alone and upset, knowing that the only way to talk to Cas now would be – on Sunday.

Shit. In that moment, Dean _hated_ himself. He was such a fucking dickhead.

Sam nudged him in the ribs and he jumped, having not noticed his brother there. “Hey, Dean,” Sam said. “No Cas?” Gabe was hovering behind them and Dean felt another twinge of guilt.

“No, no Cas,” Dean muttered. “I was a dick and now he’s pissed off with me.”

“What did you do?” Gabe asked, interested. “I mean, it must have been pretty bad-”

“It was,” Dean said, still quiet. He could hardly meet his eyes. “I was a complete douchebag and he has every right to not talk to me… but I still have to come to dinner on Sunday. Gabe, what’s your address?”

“Gabriel!” That was Cas’ voice, cutting through the crowd. “We’re leaving. Now!”

Gabe winced. “I hate that voice. I’ll text you the address, okay Dean? I’ll talk to him.”

“Thanks, Gabe,” Dean muttered. “I’ll see you Sunday.”

“Bye,” he said as Cas yelled, “Gabriel!” again. With a grimace, the boy turned on his heel and darted to join his brother. Sam nudged Dean again.

“You okay?” he asked. “What did you say?”

“I freaked out about family shit,” Dean mumbled, hating himself even more with every word he said. “And then I insulted his family. You know, there’s not much coming back from that.”

“He’ll come round,” Sam promised. “You didn’t mean it, you’re sorry and he likes you. He’ll come round.”

"I hope so, Sammy," Dean said. He watched the two Miltons disappear into the crowds and sighed. "I really hope so."


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I'm sorry it has taken me so long to update. No excuse other than writer's block. Big thing to happen in the next chapter though so keep tuned! Thank you for the kudos.  
> As usual, all mistakes are mine because I am un-beta'd. Anyone want to be a beta for this, please contact me ASAP. I'd appreciate it.

Castiel didn’t answer his phone all weekend. Dean sent about thirty separate text messages begging him to talk to him, and phoned at least ten times too. He looked at his phone so often on Saturday – when he was working in the garage – that Bobby asked him rather gruffly if he had some girlfriend or other that he needed to worry about.

“God, _no_ ,” Dean exclaimed, horrified. “ _No_. I just – I’m waiting for a call from Cas.”

Bobby rolled his eyes and muttered something about ‘boyfriend, then’ which Dean chose to ignore. Violently.

So when Sunday evening rolled around, Dean had the Miltons’ address – Gabriel had come through with that – and was dressed in his smartest clothes. Even those were pretty shabby, but at least he wasn’t wearing jeans.

“You know, green really brings out your eyes, Dean,” Sam said, the sarcasm rolling off his tongue. “Dude, are you just going to stand there staring into the mirror all night?”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean snapped, rubbing his already sweaty palms on his trousers. This was horrible. “Are the flowers still alive?”

“Yup,” Sam said, glancing over at the bouquet. “Nice choice.”

“Stop complimenting yourself, bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Dean allowed himself a short smile and glanced at the clock. It was a minute to six o’clock and he sighed. “I’d better go then.”

“Good luck!” Sam said cheerfully as he handed the flowers to Dean – lilies, he thought, but he wasn’t entirely sure – and added, “Just don’t kiss Cas – I don’t think Michael will like it.”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean said again, but this one sounded a lot more tired and resigned. “See you later.” He hurried down the stairs, to where Bobby was waiting. “I’ll try and be back before midnight. Hell, if I get my way I’ll be back before nine.”

“You be good, boy,” Bobby said, trying to pretend that he wasn’t watching Dean worriedly. “Don’t say anything stupid.”

“I’ll try not to,” Dean said. “So, directions-”

The doorbell went.

Dean stared at it, shock making him stand there with his jaw open, because Cas couldn’t have – he was still ignoring him – he wouldn’t have come to get him, would he?

No.

But Balthazar would have.

“Winchester,” Balthazar said, standing in the door in jeans, a V-neck t-shirt and a blazer, smirking at him. “Close your mouth. Your brain might fall out.”

Dean snapped his jaw shut and then opened it again to ask, “What are you doing here?”

Balthazar’s eyebrows rose in an exaggerated play of being shocked. “Why, is that anyway to greet your chauffeur? I’m hurt, Dean.”

“Chauffeur?” Dean echoed weakly. “But…”

“Castiel asked me to pick you up,” he said, suddenly losing the playfulness and looking stern. “And I thought it might be a high time to have a talk.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean muttered. Sam and Bobby cast him curious glances, but Dean just swallowed and grabbed his jacket from the wall. “See you later, guys.” He guided Balthazar out the door and shut it behind them quickly.

Balthazar drove a Cadillac CTS V Coupe, and damn but Dean was impressed. He harboured a very secret desire for a modern car like that – luxurious and fast – but he loved his Impala and would never, _ever_ tell anyone about it.

Dean was silent as Balthazar started the car and began to drive. He didn’t know what the man was expecting him to say – that he was sorry? That he was a dick? That it was ridiculous for him to be coming to his house when Cas wasn’t even talking to him? That –

“Okay,” Balthazar cut in to Dean’s thoughts calmly. “A few things about tonight. Our darling Castiel has informed me that you are not to ‘apologise to him or mention any part of your discussion on Friday in front of Michael’ – and that is a direct quote. He doesn’t want you to bring attention to it or he thinks Michael isn’t going to be happy.”

“I-”

“I’m not done,” Balthazar said. “I don’t know what you’ve done and I don’t want to know, but you should realise that you would probably be in a lot more trouble than you already are if it wasn’t for Cas. You should be grateful, and clearly-”

“I got angry,” Dean said, his voice quiet and he would deny that it was trembling till the end of his days. “He was – I don’t know, trying to… be nice, I guess. I got defensive and said something stupid and – well, I don’t blame him for being angry. I was a dick.”

“Nothing new there, then,” Balthazar said, wry humour in his voice. “Just pretend everything is normal. Tonight, I would advise not swearing, not talking about your other friends – Michael doesn’t like that Castiel has taken on his own rag-tag band of followers – and honestly, I would advise not agreeing to anything Michael asks of you. He’s – well, he’s going to want something.

“Furthermore,” he said, cutting across Dean when he opened his mouth. “Tonight, you will meet Michael, his wife Rachel – who is expecting their third baby, if you are interested – Raphael, our other brother, Zachariah – another brother, but you might not have heard about him yet – Uriel, a cousin, Anna, our sister and obviously Gabriel and Castiel will be there. I don’t expect anyone else will be there. The children – Inias and Hester – will be presented to you, I expect, but they are very young and will be sent to bed. Hester is six and Inias is four.”

“Right,” Dean muttered. “And… is there anything else I should know?”

Balthazar shot him a look out of the corner of his eye. “Depends on what you mean. You know the basics – we’re not a family you want to be part of, Dean, but you don’t have the choice now. Crowley wasn’t going to leave you alone unless Michael got involved and even now… there’s a chance he might not. Tonight is your one chance to secure your family’s safety so _don’t mess it up_.”

Damn. Balthazar was scary tonight. Everyone was on edge and Dean – well, Dean was about to step out onto the tightrope without a net. He wondered quietly of Michael would cut the rope.

Balthazar pulled up outside of the largest mansion he had ever seen. It was one of those ones with pillars and swirly bits, that Dean really couldn’t appreciate but figured that other people liked it so he could get on with that. It was lit up and sort of looked like it was lit by flames and sconces – that’s what they were called, right? – rather than electronic lights. It was pretty nice. The fountain was impressive, he had to say.

Balthazar parked the car and they got out. Dean masked his too-audible swallow by shutting the door and he lifted the flowers. Balthazar smirked at him, but Dean tried to ignore him. His palms were sweating and his stomach was turning somersaults inside him – oh god, he was going to be sick.

“ _Chill out_ ,” Balthazar muttered. “You look like you’re going to wet yourself. Pull yourself together, Winchester.”

Dean bit his lip, but made the effort, straightening his shoulders and trying to calm his stomach. He slowed his breathing a little and the man beside him sighed.

“You’ll have to do,” he said. “Come along. At least we’re not late.”

It was only then that Dean realised that Balthazar was nervous too. Strangely enough, instead of freaking him out even more, it made him calmer – there was a reason to be afraid, clearly, but at least he wasn’t totally on his own here. That chilled him out a little bit.

Balthazar reached for his key to unlock the door, but it swung open before he could. In front of Dean stood a tall man, with dark hair and eyes and a dashing smile. Fuck, but he was hot. A hot homophobe, but fucking _hot_. He was wearing a suit – well fitted, _and_ it looked expensive. Behind him stood a woman with long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a baby bump. She was thin enough that Dean could see her collarbones and her jaw was squarer than most women he met – she was beautiful, but in an interesting way rather than the ordinary. She was also cold; there was a glint in her eye that made Dean uncomfortable.

“Dean!” the man said, smile widening as he looked him up and down. His arms opened and Dean felt himself being pulled into a cool, formal embrace. When he was released, Michael – because who else could it be – held him at arm’s length and looked him up and down once more, the smile taking on an edge – no. It wasn’t the _smile_ that changed, but the eyes. Before they had been excited, interested, and now they were cooling, becoming calculating. Dean felt like a piece of meat on a butcher’s counter.

“Hello, Mikey?” Balthazar said, cutting in. “You’re blocking the doorway.”

“Balthazar,” Michael said with a sigh, turning to look at him. “What have I told you about speaking in that uncouth manner?”

Balthazar shrugged, pulling an over-the-top, ‘no idea’ face that made Dean like him a little more. “I wasn’t listening – probably.”

“That’s not a surprise,” another voice cut in. Dean glanced over Michael’s shoulder to see another woman standing there, red hair falling down her back and framing her pale face. She stood in the shadows, and the encroaching darkness made her shine all the brighter, red and gold dancing in her hair like flames leaping in the campfire at night. The smile on her face made her look like a merciful angel and Dean’s heart jumped at the affection and love in her brilliant eyes as she stepped forwards.

Dean wondered if he was going to be ripped apart by this family.

Probably.

“You never do listen, do you, Balthazar?” Her voice was teasing and kind.

“Anna,” Balthazar greeted. “Meet Dean Winchester. Michael’s decided that he’s one of the family now.”

 _What_? Dean shot him a look, but the young man’s words had brought the attention back onto Dean.

“Ah, yes, Dean,” Michael said. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, sir,” Dean lied, privately thanking God that his voice didn’t break or shake or something equally embarrassing.

Michael smiled, so Dean assumed that was the right response. “May I present my wife, Rachel Milton, and my younger sister, Anael Milton?” Anael – yet another strange name.

“It’s lovely to meet you, ma’am,” Dean said, trying to stop the running commentary in his brain. “Thank you for having me.” He offered the flowers to Rachel, who smiled graciously at him.

She was still cold. The contrast between her and Anna was incredibly clear.

“Thank you, Dean,” she said, accepting the flowers. “They’re lovely. Did you pick them out yourself?”

“My brother helped,” Dean told her honestly. “I don’t know much about flowers.”

Thankfully, that was well received. Rachel laughed and leant back into Michael, who wrapped an arm around her waist in response.

“Oh, I do like this one, Michael,” Rachel said. “You must keep him.” Wow. Well that was freaky as fuck. _Keep him_? Dean wasn’t going to be _kept_ by anyone.

“Well, come on in then,” Michael said, cutting into Dean’s inner monologue. “You must meet the others.”

Dean tried for a smile and followed Michael in. Balthazar closed the door behind him and Dean suddenly wished he’d brought his own car so that he could make a quick getaway. Bobby would probably be calling him an idjit right now.

“Dean,” Michael said as he opened a door down the hall. “I’d like you to meet my family. Castiel and Gabriel you already know, of course.” Dean ducked in behind him and breathed a sigh of relief when he caught sight of Cas standing in a corner, a dark blue dress shirt and formal trousers on. Dean was even happier when Cas offered a smile and wave in response, and grinned brightly back.

“My brother, Raphael,” Michael added, gesturing to another man. He was black. Dean blinked. “Ah, yes. Raphael was adopted.” Right. That explained that. The man simply nodded at him, wearing a facial expression that looked like someone had stolen his teddy from him or something.

Okay, maybe not quite like that, but he definitely looked grumpy.

Dean tried for a smile and an awkward nod-thing that he was certain made him look like an idiot.

Raphael ignored him, so Dean assumed that nothing more was necessary.

“This is Zachariah,” Michael added, gesturing to a balding, rotund man, with bulbous eyes. Zachariah smiled at Dean.

“Hello, Dean,” he said. “It’s so lovely to meet you at last. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Dean swallowed and replied, “All good I hope?”

Zachariah laughed and said, “If it was good it wouldn’t be true, would it?”

Well. Dean had no idea how to respond to that and thankfully Michael gestured to another man – the last in the room. “This is Uriel – also adopted, as you may be able to tell.”

He was also black, but he was smiling and looked a lot friendlier than the others. He was on the large side too, but grinned at Dean and said, “It’s nice to meet you, Dean.”

“You too,” Dean lied, smiling back. _These people were all creepy assed fuckers_.

“Can we offer you a drink, Dean?” Michael said. Dean glanced sideways at Cas, who looked back at him with a blank face.

“I – thank you, but no,” Dean replied. “I’m – good thanks.” He wondered if that was the wrong answer, but no one said anything more on the subject.

“Well, now that Dean is, why don’t we take a seat,” Michael suggested. Somehow, it seemed more like an order. Dean followed them towards the chairs – it was some sort of parlour, like the one that Dean had met the Masters in, but he didn’t think that they would enjoy that comparison. He took a seat beside Cas, and Gabe sat on the other side of him.

Dean was sweating. He wondered how obvious it was.

“Relax,” Cas murmured beside him.

Very obvious then. Dean swallowed and tried to do as he was told.

“So, Dean,” Michael said, leaning forwards. He sat opposite Dean, with Rachel on his left and Raphael on his right. Uriel and Balthazar sat on a loveseat to their right and Zachariah and Anna sat on a similar one the other side. She didn’t look happy to be sitting beside him.

“What do you think of our little town?” Michael asked. His eyes were still calculating and Dean had a feeling he was being tested.

He sat up a little straighter and said, “It’s very, uh, welcoming.” He had to stop his lips from pulling up into a sarcastic smirk because yeah, welcoming was one word for it.

Michael didn’t refrain from smirking. “Yes. That is one word for it.” He watched Dean for a moment longer. “And how are your grades?”

He had come here expecting the Spanish Inquisition and was not to be disappointed. “I’m not failing. Not brilliant either, but my brother’s the brains of the family.” Shit, why had he said that?

“You care very much for your brother,” Michael observed.

He was silent for a beat. Dean waited, then said, “Yeah.”

“How come?”

“I…” Dean hesitated, glancing at Castiel for support. His friend was watching him too, but offered nothing. Turning back to Michael, he thought, _guess I’ll have to do this myself_. “I raised him myself.” He swallowed at the looks of surprise and interest on the Miltons’ faces. “I guess you already know that our Dad wasn’t around much. I’ve – I looked after him since we were kids. He’s a great kid – real smart, loves school. He’s a runner, too – does track. Wants to be a lawyer when he grows up.” Dean smiled at the idea of Sammy – tiny little Sammy – in court.

“You are very proud of your brother, I see,” Michael said. The others were silent still, but Anna was smiling at Dean and Balthazar and even Rachel were melting a little.

“Yes,” Dean said. He cleared his throat, still uncertain but on more familiar grounds now. “I have lots to be proud of.”

“Clearly,” Michael agreed. “Gabriel enjoys your brother’s company immensely, or so I understand.” He smiled a little, added a glance at his brother, before looking back at Dean. “And you, Dean? You speak of your brother’s aspirations but not your own. What do you want to do?”

And wasn’t that a loaded question. Dean hesitated, then said, “I’m not entirely sure.”

“Have you no idea at all?” Michael asked. “Surely you must have some ambition, Dean? Or if not you, at least a family plan?”

Dean gritted his teeth, annoyed. “You asking if I’m gonna do what my Dad does?” Cas flinched beside him, but Dean wasn’t going to dart around the problem anymore. He leant forwards, looking straight into Michael’s eyes, oddly calm. “Look, I know this sounds rude. I’ve come into your home and demanded your help, offering nothing in return. I get that. But can we just be honest with each other? ‘Cause playing around like this isn’t fun for anyone.”

There was dead silence in the room. Dean briefly wondered if anyone was actually breathing as they waited for Michael.

The man in question leant back, watching Dean intently. There was a minute of silence and Dean was sure it couldn’t have actually been that long but then he started counting the seconds and realised yeah, it really was.

He didn’t look away from Michael though. He was so tense he wondered if he was going to break if he was touched, but that was a stupid image that Dean totally didn’t get so he hated himself for thinking that –

Oh god. Stop thinking.

Finally, Michael broke the silence. He rose, walking over to a cabinet on one side of the room and pouring himself a whiskey. He took a sip, then turned back to Dean. “I like you, Dean. I like that you’re honest and don’t want to play games with me. As a politician, I don’t often meet people like that. It’s… refreshing.” He turned back, got another glass and filled it. Then he walked back and held it out to Dean, who took it after a moment’s hesitation. He didn’t drink though.

Michael looked down at him, still standing. “I understand that you don’t wish to become your father, Dean. I don’t think anyone here wants that.” He laughed, and his family echoed him ( _creepy_ ). Then he evaluated Dean again, eyes raking up and down his body, and said with a smile, “We’ll find something else for you to do in this family, Dean. We don’t want you to be a killer.”

Dean swallowed. “Good.” He looked straight back at the man, afraid but not looking away. “’Cause you’ll be disappointed if that is what you want.”

Michael smiled and said, “I will strive to remember that. You’re a good man, Dean.” He looked at the glass and raised it. “I propose a toast – to a new generation of Winchesters, unlike the ones before.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Uriel muttered and Balthazar snorted. Dean felt a little guilty for it, but raised his glass in reply and took a sip of the whiskey. He swallowed it easily, without choking, and appreciated the smoothness of it. It just _oozed_ richness.

Michael smiled at Dean. “Welcome to the family.”

Well shit. That wasn’t _quite_ what he’d been going for.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is the start of the torture/rape/graphic bit. There is a break in the middle which (if you are squeamish) you shouldn't read past.  
> Don't say I didn't warn you.

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” Dean said to Rachel as he stood by the door, Cas on one side of him and Balthazar on the other. He still felt awkward, but the Miltons had decided to welcome him wholeheartedly, and he was trying to respond in favour.

“You are welcome any time, Dean,” she said with a smile. “I hope you’ll come to church with us on Sunday? You’ll like the pastor; he’s a good friend of ours.”

“I’d love to,” Dean lied. That sounded like hell. “I’ll have to check with Bobby though – I might be needed to work.”

“Of course,” Rachel replied with a polite smile. “Do let us know. Castiel will tell us, or Gabriel.”

“I’ll just walk him out,” Castiel said quietly. “Come along, Dean. It’s getting late.”

“Right,” Dean said, nodding. “Thanks again.”

“Night, Dean!” Gabriel called, waving.

“Goodbye, Dean,” Anna added. “It was nice meeting you.” She smiled warmly at him again and Dean grinned back, helpless to the pretty lady’s charm. What was it with this family and being goddamn attractive?

“Come along, Dean,” Balthazar said. “Some of us have things to do.” He stalked out of the door and Dean glanced at him, before smiling at Michael one more time and following.

Castiel walked by his side down the drive towards the car. Dean glanced sideways at him to see him looking serious, but no longer worried (thankfully).

“So?” he asked, unable to help himself.

Cas thought for a second, before saying, “You did better than I was anticipating. I’m not sure what Michael will want from you, though.”

“We’ll work everything out,” Dean said, false confidence in his voice. “Goodnight, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean,” Castiel replied. Before Dean could say anything else, he added, “And I forgive you.”

“Thank you,” Dean muttered, an embarrassed flush colouring his cheeks. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Cas agreed, and Dean got into the car. Balthazar winked at him as he started the motor, and Dean blushed harder.

“If I didn’t know better,” Balthazar drawled. “I’d say you were sweet on my brother, Winchester.”

“Jeez,” Dean muttered. “What? Is this some sort of interrogate Dean evening?”

“Yes,” Balthazar said, unashamedly. He turned onto the main road with ease. “He likes you, you know. He asked me why everyone thought it was wrong to be gay the other night.”

“Oh,” Dean said. “I – Jo was teasing him the other day. It’s not-”

“It’s totally what I think,” Balthazar interrupted cheerfully. “But don’t worry. I promise not to out you two. I think it’s sweet – star-crossed lovers and all.”

“Would everyone kindly stop referring to us as that?” Dean complained. “We’re not lovers and we’re not star-crossed. Jesus Christ – we’re on the same side now!”

“Debatable,” Balthazar put in, signalling and changing lane. “Cas is hardly on Michael’s side. He’s practically a side all of his own now-a-days. My little boy, all grown up.” He pretended to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye and Dean rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, Cas is awesome,” Dean agreed. “But we’re not a couple.”

“Not going to deny that you’re gay and in love with him, I notice,” Balthazar commented, apparently teasing but Dean reckoned he was serious.

“No chick flick moments, man,” Dean said. “I’m not baring my heart to you just because you’re driving me home from your psycho-brother’s mansion where I sold my soul for protection.” He thought about that for a little longer and then asked, mild horror in his tone, “It _is_ just my soul right? Is he going to pimp me out?”

Balthazar snorted and then burst out laughing.

“I’m serious,” Dean muttered, miffed.

“I know,” Balthazar said, struggling to contain his mirth. “That’s why it’s so amusing. I’ll have to suggest it to Michael, just to see his face.” Then, to assuage Dean’s fears he added, “No. He’s not going to pimp you out.”

“Good.” Dean leant back in his seat and sighed. That was a relief. He enjoyed the purr of the engine for a moment, falling back into his thoughts. This would all be okay. They could actually make this work –

“What is this idiot doing?” Balthazar asked. He was mostly speaking to himself, but he was glancing nervously in the rear-view mirror and Dean frowned too, twisting round to see headlights speeding their way. He pulled back and glanced at the man beside him, who looked vaguely concerned.

“I-”

“Shit!” Balthazar swore and swerved wildly into the next lane. The car lurched beneath Dean and he grabbed the dashboard to support himself.

“Balthazar-”

“Not now!” The man hit the gas and the car shot forwards, but the car beside them stayed there, steady, and swerved into them again. This time it connected and sent them shuddering sideways, winding both driver and passenger as their seatbelts activated.

“What the hell-?” Dean couldn’t finish the question before the car hit their back end and suddenly they were twisting, completely out of control, and blind terror took hold of Dean as they were thrown about. His body was being pulled in different directions and then – _bang_. He was whipped to one side, painfully, as the car hit the railings, then the other as it crashed to a stop. The impact sent him forwards into an airbag, but at least it fucking worked.

_Ow_. Motherfucker. Dean tried to sit up, but his muscles betrayed him for a moment, refusing to work as he sat there in shock. After a minute, he managed to turn his head and croak, “Balthazar?”

The man was unconscious and Dean swore, noticing his bleeding head. He managed, with fumbling fingers, to undo his seatbelt and grabbed his phone, dialling 911.

“Hello? I need an ambulance-” his voice was cut short by movement outside and he swore. They had – they were trying to kill them. Dean was going to die.

“ _Sir_? _Can you tell me where you are?_ ”

“I-” Oh god he was going to die he was going to die he was going to _fucking die_ the door was being reached and opened the handle was turning – “On the highway, by exit four-a-” he managed before the door was open and the phone was knocked out of his hand by an all too familiar face.

Alastair smirked at Dean and said, “You had such promise, too.” Dean tried to scrabble backwards but was trapped in the wreck of the car and oh _holy shit he was screwed_ there was a needle in Alastair’s hand and Dean tried to knock it out but moving his wrist was _burning pain_ shit broken _no god no –_

“No,” he cried out, struggling as Alastair grabbed him and plunged the needle in to his arm in one swift movement. “NO!”

The world swam around him. He struggled, but he knew there was no point. Still, he was hard-headed and struck out, pain lancing through him but he heard a soft grunt of pain, and that was satisfying. His vision was fading and he was being dragged from the car, the drugs taking effect as he lost control of his body and he groaned. Was he being _roofied_?

“Stop,” he tried to say as another man grabbed hold of him too, leading him towards another car – not damaged, so it must have been more than one car – but his voice came out as slush and his legs weren’t supporting his weight. He tried to pull away but he couldn’t control himself and his vision was going black.

His panic ebbed away and unconsciousness claimed him.

 

* * *

 

The slap echoed in his ears even as his cheek began to burn. Dean blinked his eyes open, wincing at the light and the pain, and tried to move. He couldn’t. He was sitting upright, his hands bound behind his back and his ankles similarly constrained.

He tried to swear, but couldn’t. There was a gag tied around his mouth and only a muffled ‘ _unf’_ of protest came out.

He blinked and the room came into view. It was a concrete cell and he noticed with trepidation that there were drains at certain points in the floor – just waiting for blood to trickle down, he thought immediately and felt sick. But then, what was he supposed to think? He was tied to a chair! After being kidnapped! And in a car accident!

Speaking of – he tried to move his wrist and winced at the shooting pain. Definitely broken then.

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” said a voice and Dean looked up to take in the other details of the room – he still felt blurry from the drug. He blinked and realised that Crowley was standing in front of him and wanted to swear again. His stomach dropped to somewhere around his ankles. “What are we to do with you?”

He wasn’t alone, either. Alastair and Meg were leaning against the wall, and Ruby was hovering in the doorway, looking slightly nervous. Dean wondered why Crowley had let a fourteen year old into a torture chamber, but realised he should probably be more worried as to why he was currently tied up in a torture chamber with a renowned torturer leering at him.

He swallowed nervously, fear making his heart race and sweat break out across his forehead. Shit.

Crowley walked across the room and Dean followed him with his eyes. He stopped at a cart and picked up something – a knife, a long, sharp, deadly looking knife that made Dean want to vomit. God. He was going to piss himself, he thought vaguely as the terror increased. He was close to hyperventilating already.

_Calm down, son_ , John’s voice ordered in his mind. _Breathe and take account of your situation. Why do they want you? Exits? How can you stall for time?_

He swallowed and took a moment to slow his racing heart, taking deep breaths as Crowley turned the knife around in his hands. He managed to take control of himself again as Crowley turned back and smiled.

“Very good, Dean,” he said. “Nice. Keep your breathing easy, boy. Wouldn’t want to panic, would we?” Dean swallowed again. Crowley stepped closer, toying with the knife in a clear attempt at intimidation.

Well fuck him but yeah – this was working.

“So,” Crowley said. “I guess you’re wondering why you’re here?”

_Not really,_ Dean thought. _I know why I’m here_.

“You offended me, Dean,” Crowley said. “First you insulted my daughter, then myself and now – now! I hear that you are accepting the Milton’s hospitality when you are on _my payroll_.”

Oh god he was going to die. No, scratch that. He was going to be tortured and _then_ die.

“I don’t like this, Dean,” he said quietly, the menace radiating off of him. “Not one little bit. I’ve been warned off you, but Michael doesn’t scare me. Michael,” he repeated, his lips twisting into a sneer. “You run and hide behind that man – if you can call him a man.” Crowley turned and stepped forwards, looking down at Dean. “I hear you’ve been welcomed to the family – oh yes,” he said, seeing the sudden flash of realisation in Dean’s eyes. “I have my own little worm in the Milton household. He’s loyal to me – can you guess which one of them?”

Dean frowned but shook his head. He needed to get out of here and warn Cas but well – his life was on the line and _slightly more important right now_.

“Well, now is not the time that the villain reveals all his evil plans, Dean, so sorry to disappoint.” Crowley straightened up and tossed the knife to Alastair, who caught it with ease, eyes glinting with barely concealed excitement.

“Have fun, boys,” Crowley said. “Now, I think I fancy a drink. What do you say, Meg?”

Dean began to struggle in earnest as the others filed out and the door slam shut. He heard the locks on the other side.

_Oh god oh god oh god oh god._ If Dean had been the praying type, he would be begging for God to hear him right now.

He didn’t believe in God, but right now – he understood what people meant when they said that no one laughs at god when they’re staring down the barrel of a gun.

“Dean,” Alastair said, leaning forwards. “Where shall we start?” The man’s breath washed over Dean’s face and – god he smelt like peppermint. How could someone so monstrous smell like _peppermint_? Shouldn’t he smell like blood, or something?

“Tut tut,” Alastair muttered. “Can’t have you gagged now, can I? Takes out half the fun.” He reached behind Dean’s head, his face so close now that Dean couldn’t escape those eyes, those _fucking eyes_ god he was so afraid.

The gag fell away and Dean looked straight at him and said, “Go fuck yourself.”

Alastair smirked and said, “Oh I’ll be fucking someone.” He traced the knife down Dean’s cheek and smiled at the tiny flinch. Dean couldn’t control himself. He was too afraid.

“Too many clothes,” Alastair whispered. “Not the right position at all… what _was_ Crowley thinking?” In a louder voice, he called, “Azazel! Get in here!”

The door thunked open and the other creep walked in to help. He shut the door behind him but it didn’t lock, Dean noticed. Now would be his chance –

“Oh Dean,” Alastair said with a sigh. “Even if you do manage to escape Azazel and I, there are half a dozen guards, not even talking about the dogs, the fence, the security cameras – the locks. You wouldn’t get far.”

“Would be worth it,” Dean replied.

“Oh yes,” Alastair agreed. “Just to know that you could do something, right? Not entirely powerless? Here’s the secret, Deano.” He leant forwards, his lips brushing the shell of Dean’s ear as he placed one hand around his throat. “You are powerless.”

The ropes fell away but Azazel held his wrists and he was dragged backwards, away from the chair, onto a table. Then there were straps – his head strapped down, his shirt taken off, then his wrists and _ow fuck shit_ Dean hated them all for his broken wrist and for being powerless, held down, helpless. Then Alastair grinned and stripped off his pants and his boxers, before strapping his legs down – open. He was entirely exposed and bared and Dean glared at them to try and hide his fear.

Azazel smirked and said, “Have fun, brother. Try to not kill him. We all want a turn.”

Dean’s stomach twisted as Alastair turned away, only to drag the cart back over to his side. The door clanged shut again.

“I think we’ll start with – hmm. I’d quite like you intact, I think. Crowley is fond of chopping off fingers but I do so like leaving them whole yet entirely broken.” Alastair – you sick bastard. “Why don’t we start with a few messages? Then perhaps the brands. Teaching you a lesson will be fun, Dean.”

He turned back, lifting a knife, and touched his shoulder. Masochistic as he was, Dean couldn’t help but tilt his head and watch as the man lifted the blade to the skin and began to slice – oh _god_.

A choked cry escaped him and his muscles twitched and spasmed as the knife sliced into the skin of his upper arm. Tears, unbidden, blurred his eyes but he could still see well enough to watch the knife form a crooked ‘A’. Alastair stopped, smirked at Dean, and then placed the knife down again, cutting again. An ‘L’ this time. Then another ‘A’. An ‘S’ and Dean knew what this was going to say.

He didn’t scream properly. He admitted to whimpering, to moaning and the choked cries but no screams passed his lips.

Alastair smiled as he finished and Dean sighed in relief. “Nowhere near done yet, Deano,” the man whispered as he pressed forwards. Dean flinched at the press of – oh god, fuck him sideways, that was the bastard’s _cock_. He was hard. He was hard from torturing Dean.

“In fact,” Alastair whispered, “We’re just beginning.”


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Sorry for the random updates but my exams are starting and I'm a little over-worked. Still looking for a beta if any one is interested!

Castiel stormed down the hospital corridors ahead of his brothers. If anyone was surprised that Michael wasn’t leading, no one showed it. The nurses at the desk paled at the sight of the family, but Castiel had no patience for that tonight.

“Balthazar Milton,” he snapped. “Where is he?”

“He’s in Room 17, but the police are in there-”

Castiel ignored her and strode past, down the corridor and towards a side room. Michael caught up and walked by his side. Anna brought up the rear, worry still obvious on her face even though anger was the dominating feature in her brothers’. Everyone else had stayed home, even though Gabriel has been itching to come.

Castiel opened the door without knocking and the two inspectors looked up in shock. Balthazar, lying back in the bed with a bandage around his head, smiled slightly at the sight of his brother.

“What happened?” Castiel demanded. He had no patience for anything since the call. “Dean?”

Balthazar swallowed and paled. One of the inspectors – the one that Castiel didn’t recognise – said, “We’re in the middle of an investigation-”

His partner caught his arm and said quickly, “We’ll be outside. Mr Milton.” He nodded and dragged his partner out.

“Cassie-” Balthazar started. Cas cut him off.

“What happened? Where’s Dean?”

“I don’t know,” his brother said miserably. Castiel froze. “There was a car – it was following us and I didn’t realise. It sped up, caught us, side-slammed us. I stepped on it, trying to get away, but it – Jesus I’m sorry, Cas. I couldn’t do anything and the next thing I knew I was waking up with paramedics around me and Dean was gone. He’d phoned them – he isn’t dead-”

“No, not dead, just _kidnapped_ ,” Castiel seethed. Michael placed a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder but he shrugged him off. “It can only be Crowley. We offended him by warning him off and he decided to almost _kill_ Balthazar and _kidnap_ Dean.” He paced back and forth, and the others winced. Anna strode across the room and sat beside Balth, taking his hand in hers tightly.

“You’re okay,” she whispered. “At least there’s that. How bad-”

“Mild concussion,” said a new voice from the door and they all whipped around. A blond man stood there, smirking at them and leaning against the door. He wore a doctor’s coat. “Three broken ribs, shoulder and elbow dislocated but don’t worry, I popped those back in myself. After all, could hardly let my little brother suffer, could I?”

“Lucifer,” Michael growled. “What are you-?”

“I’m a doctor, Michael,” Lucifer replied with a sigh. “It’s what I _do_. Save people. Cure things. The opposite of the family business.”

“He’ll make a full recovery?” Castiel asked, cutting off his elder brother as he began to speak.

“Of course,” Lucifer replied, as if he was insulted that Cas had even questioned that. “He’s hardly severely hurt. Would have been better if I could have been on the scene, of course, but the ribs are taped and the shoulder and elbow are back in. The rest is bruises. He had a bad cut on his leg, but that’s all dealt with now.”

“Thank you, Luce,” Balthazar said from the bed. He was quiet, subdued, and Michael flinched at the pet name.

“No need to thank me,” their brother said with a wave of his hand. His eyes were serious as he looked at Michael. “I’m doing my job.”

“You aren’t welcome-”

“Be _quiet,_ Michael,” Castiel ordered, irritated. “We have much more pressing matters than an argument between you and Lucifer that should have been sorted out years ago.” Michael puffed his chest out and opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off by Lucifer.

“What problems?” He was frowning between Cas and Balthazar. “This – this wasn’t an accident, was it?”

“No,” Castiel snapped. “And Balthazar wasn’t the only person in that car.”

“No one else was brought in-” Lucifer started but Castiel waved his hand.

“We believe he has been kidnapped by Crowley,” Anna said, squeezing her brother’s hand nervously. “He – angered him.”

“Dean Winchester,” Lucifer guessed. Anna nodded and Cas looked away. Lucifer turned to stare at him.

Cas looked back, meeting his brother’s eyes even as his stomach twisted. He knew the fear, the worry, the _love_ must be absolutely obvious on his face. Lucifer looked at him for just a moment before he nodded.

“I’ll – see what I can find out.”

Michael opened his mouth to object, but Castiel whispered, “Thank you.” Michael shut his mouth with an audible snap and spun to stare out of the black window. Sighing, Castiel sat beside his brother’s bed and pulled out his phone.

“What are you doing?” Balthazar asked.

“I must phone Sam and inform him of his brother’s disappearance.” And he was dreading every second of it.

“It’s the middle of the night, Cas, let him sleep,” Anna advised, but Castiel shook his head.

“Sam knew how nervous Dean was about tonight. He wouldn’t sleep until he came home.” He scrolled through his contacts but Michael plucked the phone out of his hand.

“I’ll do it,” he said, cutting off Castiel’s protest. “I owe it to Bobby to tell him myself.”

Castiel swallowed, remembering the phone call Dean and he had listened in on earlier in the week, but nodded. “Of course.”

Michael dialled and placed the phone to his ear. It rang for a moment – it was loud enough for them all to hear which was something Cas should sort out really – before a gruff, “ _Hello_?” was heard from the other end.

“Robert? It’s Michael,” his brother said.

“ _What’s happened?_ ” Bobby demanded, his voice sounding more alert automatically.

“I’m afraid there’s been an accident,” Michael said. His face and voice were devoid of emotion, but Castiel could see the slight flicker of something human in his eyes. “A car crash.”

“ _Is Dean alive?_ ” The urgency – the fear – was obvious in the other man’s voice.

“I – we’re not sure.” Michael swallowed. “I’m afraid he’s been kidnapped. We believe Crowley to be responsible-”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bobby swore, cutting the eldest Milton off in mid-sentence. “ _Damn it Michael! You were supposed to look after him!”_

“To be fair, I wasn’t expecting Crowley to pull something like this,” Michael responded, miffed. “I didn’t think he would be insane enough to actually attack my family. I won’t let this slide, Bobby, don’t worry.”

“ _Yeah, well, while you’re busy ‘avenging your honour’ or some shit like that, how on this god-forsaken earth am I supposed to rescue my boy?”_

“I’ll have everyone on look out – I’ve even got some people on the inside conferring with their sources-” Castiel rolled his eyes. Michael couldn’t simply refer to his brother by his name, could he?

_“Have you checked on who’s been called in to the compound? If Dean’s there-”_

“I know, Robert,” Michael cut him, casting an anxious glance at Cas, whose stomach twisted sickeningly at the idea. “We’ll get him back.”

“ _There’s no way in hell any of us can get into that damned place, Michael, and you know it! He’ll kill us all. And while I’m willing to do that, I guess you aren’t-”_

“Don’t assume that,” Michael snapped angrily. “I welcomed that boy into the family tonight, Bobby! He’s my responsibility and has _my_ protection. That means _I_ am responsible for him. Don’t call me a coward.”

There was a tense silence on both sides of the line. Then: “ _Alright. You got a plan? I’ll gather the troops and come in, shall I?”_

“We’re at the hospital at the moment,” Michael informed him. “Balthazar was injured in the crash.”

“ _He gonna be okay?”_

“He shall make a full recovery,” Michael replied. “Send your ‘troops’ to my home. We shall return there shortly. I’m not leaving Balthazar here – I have to check on something and then we’ll return. It won’t be longer than an hour.”

“ _If Dean’s at the compound, the damage they can do in an hour-”_

“Dean’s already been there for several hours,” Michael said. “They left our home at ten. It’s almost three.”

The sense of horror enveloped Castiel and he sat down rather suddenly, the blood rushing away from his face. Torture. Dean was being tortured.

Balthazar reached out and touched his back comfortingly, but Castiel could hardly feel it. How could this have happened? Castiel knew his life was hardly ordinary, but no one he loved had ever come close to being hurt before – he’d always been able to rescue them, come to some sort of arrangement, pay or make a deal with Crowley and everything had been fine. But this – why Dean? He’d hardly done some of the things that the others had. Dean wasn’t even _working_ for them.

Maybe he’d been pushing it too far? Maybe it was Castiel’s own fault, for trying to save too many? At that second, he wished bitterly that he had saved none of the others and only rescued Dean because at least he’d be here then.

“Cassie,” Balthazar whispered, stroking his back again. “At least we know he’s alive.”

“And being _tortured_ ,” Castiel snapped violently. Both Balthazar and Anna winced, but Michael cut in smoothly.

“Calm down, Castiel,” he ordered and then cut straight through Cas’ attempted protest. “You’ll do him no good in this state. We will find him and we will get him sorted out and then you can have your boy back.”

“He’s not mine-”

Michael rolled his eyes. “You think I don’t know the look on your face? It’s the look on my face when Rachel is in danger. It was the look on Dad’s face when Mum died.” Castiel shifted uncomfortably, wishing he could remember the mother that died because of his birth. Then he realised what Michael was saying and –

Cas’ stomach dropped. He looked determinedly at the floor, hating the idea that Michael might be disgusted, might hate him. He hated himself, knowing that these – these _feelings_ were sick and twisted and made God hate him. He knew it was wrong, he knew and would never act on it, never! He loved God above all others and if this was sent to test him –

“Enough, Castiel,” Michael said, and then he was kneeling in front of the bed and grasping his little brother’s hands. “Look at me.” Obediently, Castiel raised his eyes to meet Michael’s gaze. Instead of the expected disgust, there was uncertainty and worry.

“I know what I’ve said previously,” Michael said. “I know I have treated you appallingly, and Balthazar too. I’ve thought about that night often over the past year, and I have repented. I know one thing, and that is that God told us to love each other. If you love Dean – well, I won’t pretend it doesn’t make me feel-” Michael hesitated, then sighed. “I… can’t put this into words.”

“I can,” Lucifer said cheerfully from the door. Michael rose off his knees in an instant. “He’s saying that your young man has made him open his eyes a little and he’s no longer a close-minded bastard. Just a bastard, I guess.”

“Lucifer-”

“Stop it, both of you,” Balthazar inserted, an irritated sigh escaping him. The twin brothers turned from their argument to look at their younger brother. Balthazar addressed Michael first. “So, when I’m in love with a guy it’s a sin and now Cas is in love with one it’s acceptable? That’s fair, thanks. And Luce, don’t insult Michael when you’re just as bad as him half the time. You guys are twins for a _reason_.”

Castiel cut in then. “Please, Lucifer,” he said. “What did you find out?”

The excitement for the fight drained out of his brother’s face and he looked uncertain. “I…” He hesitated, but only for a second. “Dean’s at the compound. Alastair’s with him.”

Castiel went blank. He was vaguely aware of his brothers talking to him, but there was a buzzing in his ears that was only getting louder and he felt sick and dizzy because _oh god no no nononono this can’t be happening please god not Dean not Alastair someone should be saving him God why would you let this happen he doesn’t deserve this how could you_ –

“Castiel!” Michael shook him. “Focus!” As requested, Castiel turned his eyes onto his brother. “You do not have the luxury of panic. We need all hands on deck.”

“Yes, sir,” Castiel said instinctively.

“Let’s head home,” Michael instructed, shooting Lucifer a look. His brother nodded.

 

\--- --- ---

 

It came together quickly after that. Walking into their home had been an experience – Zachariah, Raphael and Uriel protesting Lucifer’s presence loudly, while Gabriel had run into his brother’s arms, relieved to see him. Then Cas and Anna had helped Balthazar inside, and everyone was surrounding him and worrying over him, and then Castiel was face to face with Bobby and Sam.

“I’m sorry,” were the first words that came out of his mouth. Bobby frowned at him.

“Don’t be, son,” he said gruffly. “Ain’t you who kidnapped him, was it?”

“I failed him,” Castiel answered. His voice was quiet and steady, but underneath he was in turmoil. This was all his fault.

“It’s not your fault, Cas,” Sam said earnestly. The boy looked exhausted, but he was still awake, fear evident in his eyes. “You couldn’t have protected him better than you have done already. Besides, he was with your brother – you didn’t expect Crowley to be that insane.”

“No,” Castiel agreed. “But if I’d been there-”

“You could have died,” Bobby pointed out. “Or been injured, or even kidnapped too. Nothing anyone could have done to make this better. Now all we gotta do is get that damn idjit back.”

“And kill Crowley,” Michael said from the other side of the room. Silence fell and everyone looked at where he stood by the door, Lucifer on his left and Rachel clutched close to his right. She looked nervously at him.

“Michael,” Bobby started, but Michael shot him a look and he backed down.

“I’ve let this go on long enough,” the patriarch of the Milton family declared. “I have seen my friends hurt, my men killed and now my own brother has been injured, and a boy I have welcomed to the family kidnapped and tortured. That is too far. The time has come for us to end this feud, and I plan on winning.”

Castiel didn’t know what to think or say. He knew Michael was right – this was too far – but killing Crowley? That was insane, even for them. This was going to be bloody – practically apocalyptic for their own little world.

 Luckily, there was a knock at the door which stopped anyone from saying anything they might regret, and Rachel turned to answer it. She opened it up and stopped short.

Ellen Harvelle stood there, shotgun in hand. Beside her were Jo and Ash, and behind them stood Andy, Chuck and Becky. One step further was a man that Castiel didn’t recognise, but Sam gasped and Bobby grunted in surprise.

“Ellen,” Rachel greeted quietly. “It’s good of you to come. Bobby called you?”

“Yeah,” Ellen said. “I heard that Dean was in some trouble. Jo wouldn’t have stopped for anything, so-”

“Is Dean alright?” Jo asked before her mother could finish.

“No,” Michael said calmly. He wasn’t looking at Jo, but at the stranger at the back. “John Winchester.”

Ah. Well. That at least put a name to the face.

“Michael Milton,” John Winchester replied with a nod. “I hope you were expecting me.”

“I didn’t really, but I suppose I should have,” Michael allowed. He ushered everyone inside, but stopped John short. “You shouldn’t be here. You are-”

“What?” John demanded. “Crowley’s man?” Everyone stilled at that. “That bastard has got my son, Michael. If you think that won’t make me a turncoat, then you’re a lot less smart than I gave you credit.”

Castiel stepped forwards, studying the man intently. There was still a faint bruising across his knuckles, which didn’t surprise Castiel.

John glanced at him, then looked back at Michael, dismissing him. Michael, however, turned and allowed Castiel to take control of the situation – something that surprised Cas, but felt right.

“You are John Winchester?” he asked quietly. John looked back at him and rolled his eyes.

“Kinda obvious, that one, ain’t it?”

Castiel kept a blank expression. “Dean wouldn’t want you here.” It was the truth, but it made John angry – understandably, Castiel thought.

“How the fuck would you know what my son wants?” he demanded. “You’ve known him all of a week and you think you know him? He wouldn’t want any of you fancy bastards coming in to rescue him – he wants his family. Now why don’t you go sit down and let the grown-ups talk?”

Castiel didn’t move, but he felt his family rise to their feet pretty much as one behind him. He knew that the entire Milton family was watching John Winchester now, stormy expressions on their faces. Castiel, however, smiled.

“Mr Winchester,” he said very politely. “It is clear to everyone that when Dean walked out on you, he no longer wanted to be around your – ah – _particular_ brand of parenting.” He heard Sam hiss in shock behind him, but saw Michael’s lips twitch into a smirk so it was worth it.

John was slowly turning bright red. “How _dare_ you-?”

“I don’t want you here,” Cas said bluntly. “You hurt Dean, you’ve hurt Sam, you’ve made them afraid to talk about you. That is _terrible_ parenting, and my parents weren’t great either, but they were damn well better than you.” He didn’t know where this was coming from – probably the stress that was overwhelming him lost his verbal filter or something. “However, I know that Dean still loves you, even though you are a child-abusing _bastard_ and a murderer. Seeing as you have a particular skill set that will come in handy, you may enter the house and be part of our plans to rescue your son – if,” he added, seeing the relief flash in John’s eyes – “you agree to not bother your sons again until they want to see you.”

John swallowed. His bravado was quickly fading as Cas’ words registered with him, but he wasn’t getting angry as Castiel had expected. Instead, he just looked behind the Milton’s at Sam and said, “If that’s what they want, I won’t see them again. I love my children.”

Sam didn’t say anything, but moved closer to Bobby. Cas said, “Well, you’d better come in then. We’ve got a lot of planning to do.” 


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. All my gratitude and love and adoration go to my wonderful new beta, Felicia, whose username on her is waywardmuppet (you should all check out her things - wonderfully angsty).  
> Otherwise, enjoy the chapter.  
> Also um. Slight change in the warnings for this chapter as it includes minor character death.  
> I really am sorry.

The first thing Dean registered when he woke up next is that he was alone, thank fucking God.

The next thing he registered was: _oh Christ Jesus fucking CHRIST that hurts that hurts oh god it hurts it hurts it’s so painful hurts pain every fucking goddamned thing is pain –_

He let out a hoarse whimper as he struggled to open his eyes again, body feeling as if it were on fire, as clichéd as that sounded. He didn’t want to risk moving to check that he still had all of his extremities, instead opting for taking it on faith that he did.

Plus, if he moved he knew he was going to vomit and the only place he could vomit was on himself. Which would not be nice. Not nice.

Not nice.

Not –

 _Snap out of it, Dean!_ There was John’s voice again, forcing Dean to pull his mind back together slowly, piece by piece. Where was he? _Crowley’s place._ How did he get here? _Kidnapped. Car crash. Balthazar._ He’d been alive when he last saw him, thank fuck. What had happened? _Tortured. Raped._ Dean internally winced at the words. _Tortured. Raped. Repeat._ His breathing was speeding up again and he focused on that for a minute or so, just breathing. He let his eyes fall shut as he did so, concentrating only on surviving.

He could do this. All he had to do was survive. Unless they killed him, there was nothing they could do to break him. He’d survive. He wouldn’t break.

Injury check. His arm had been broken before, and God did his head hurt, but he didn’t think it was fractured. Just painful. Then – he swallowed, opened his eyes and lifted his head – or tried to. He could hardly move it with the straps that attached him to the – what was it? Torture table? Had to be. He was fairly certain he still had all his fingers – wiggle-wiggle, yep, that was ten (thank fuck) – and toes, but shit it _hurt_.

The overwhelming stench of blood and burnt human flesh was going to make him sick before the pain ever could.

When the door opened he barely withheld a groan. No. He couldn’t – he couldn’t do this again –

“Hi, Dean-o.” Meg’s voice swam into Dean’s panic and he sighed, relaxing a little. “Well, don’t you look like shit.”

“I got tortured, Meg,” he rasped, unsurprised at the state of his voice after hours of pained protests. “Did you expect anything else? Sorry to disappoint.” He had to stop and cough then, which made his stomach and chest and head and every- _fucking_ -thing hurt, so he decided not to do that again if he could help it.

“Rude,” she muttered as she stepped into his line of sight. “Crowley is very pissed at you.”

“Next time I’ll think before I open my mouth, how about that?” he offered, watching her as best he could. What was she going to do to him?

She hummed in agreement and glanced up and down his body. “Huh. It’s a shame to let something so pretty go to waste.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Dean croaked. “I don’t think I’m really up for some fun right now.”

She smirked at him. “See, that’s what I like about you, Dean. You never give up, do you? Always have some smart-ass comment left.” He didn’t say anything, still focused on watching her carefully as she touched his arm. “Lucky for you, my boss likes you too.”

“Your boss?” he asked, confusion setting in. “Crowley hates me-”

“Not that smarmy good for nothing,” she muttered. “No. I don’t work for Crowley. My boss – his name’s Lucifer. He called me and said, hey Meg, sweetheart. Got a job for you. An extraction.”

“You – you’re helping me?” Dean frowned at her as his voice went embarrassingly upwards in pitch. She just smirked again before she leant up to undo the restraints. “Why?”

“When Lucifer says jump, you don’t hang around to ask how high,” she explained. The right restraint fell away and she moved, unstrapping his head before going down to his feet. “Get that one, won’t you?” Dean twisted quickly to undo the buckle, hissing as the pain registered in the movement.

“Damn.” Her eyes roamed over his body once more. “They got you good. Surprised you’re moving at all.”

“You got pants?” he asked, sitting up with a grunt.

“Here,” she handed him a pair of sweats before continuing on. “You’re gonna have to be quiet. We’ve got maybe five minutes when the siren goes before they get here, so we’re gonna have to move quickly.” She let out an exasperated sigh as Dean tried to stand but couldn’t. He collapsed into himself, biting his cheek to keep in a pained groan.

Meg wrapped an arm around his waist and he tried to hold himself still as she tugged the pants up for him – he was beyond flushing from embarrassment by this time – and helped him stand.

“Shit, you’re completely fucked. Useless.” She sounded angry at him, but Dean guessed from her expression that worry was the real problem.

 

\--- --- ---

 

“Gabriel, would you shut up?” Sam hissed in the air vents on the other side of the compound.

“But it’s so gross,” his friend complained, glancing warily around.

“Just light the fucking fuse,” Sam grunted, “And shut up. They’ll hear us.”

“There’s no one around,” Ash chimed in from behind them. He could only just fit into the ventilation system as well, but Bobby had refused to let Sam go anywhere without a responsible adult.

Sam had pointed out that they were breaking into a mob boss’ lair to rescue his older brother from probably being tortured and the time for responsible adults was long gone, but Bobby just glared at him until Ash volunteered. Sam had caught sight of Jo and Andy exchanging uncertain glances, but Bobby had deemed him okay, so group B was formed (group A, according to Cas, being Meg and Dean – the ‘extraction team’). Sam was hardly going to complain, even if Ash was still – uh – a little strange.

“Doesn’t mean we should stop being quiet,” he mumbled, but let it go as Gabriel finished sticking the tape and threw a smirk over his shoulder at Sam. Smarmy git.

“Okay,” Gabriel whispered after a few more seconds. “Welcome to the Gabriel show. The fun starts now!” He struck the match.

 

\--- --- ---

 

Michael checked his knife one last time as he glanced around his group. While group A was extraction and B was distraction, Michael’s group was less part of the plan to save Dean and more part of Michael’s own desire for revenge.

John Winchester had joined his group immediately upon hearing that plan. Ellen and Bobby had both sighed but signed up too, leaving Michael with a group of five (plus Raphael, who hardly left Michael’s side). They stood close to a fire exit to the side of the compound, waiting for the siren to sound so they could start to pick Crowley’s men off.

When Winchester had pulled out the blueprints of the compound as if it was nothing, Michael had realised that, while the bastard was still high up on his list of ‘who shall I kill next’, he was somewhat useful for this particular mission. It had been easy to sort out a plan after that.

(“Most of them’ll be here,” Winchester informed the amassed conspirators, pointing to a large area marked ‘parlour’. “This is the closest fire exit. If the kids set the fire here-” pointing to a ventilation shaft not far from them “-Then they can’t leave any other way than this way.”

“What about the others?” Michael had asked. “Where will they be? And how will Meg get the boy out?”

“This way.” That was Castiel, pointing at another exit. “Anyone who isn’t in the parlour will realise that Dean will try and escape this way. We’ll be waiting there.”

The look of respect that Winchester had shot Castiel had made Michael’s metaphorical hackles rise, but the relief at actually having a plan made it worth it.)

Now Michael was waiting patiently, standing front and centre, right at the door. They had managed to avoid the security cameras so far (once again thanks to Winchester’s expertise, much to Michael’s chagrin) and had parted ways with Castiel’s group just moments before.

“Everyone ready?” Michael asked quietly. Raphael simply shifted in place beside him and Michael knew he was ready. Winchester nodded while Bobby grunted and Ellen signed that she was ready with her hand. It was moments like this that he missed Will Harvelle, he thought, unable to stop from glancing between the woman and Winchester. Harvelle had been a good man – good at what he did, and devout enough that he realised that Michael was in the right. Thinking of him, he sent a brief prayer towards Heaven that the man was resting happily in eternity and turned his attention to the door.

 

\--- --- ---

 

Castiel shifted in place, uncomfortable with the suddenly heavy weight of the knife in his hand. Anna had handed it to him as he left the house earlier on. (“Breathe, Cas,” she’d whispered. “You’ve been handling a knife since you were a child. You can do this.”

“Yes,” Cas had wanted to scream. “But never against another human! I have never killed, Anna!”) Castiel wondered if that would still remain true by the end of the night.

Beside him, Andy and Jo stood close together with their shoulders brushing. On the other side of him was Lucifer – Lucifer the doctor, Lucifer the fallen, Lucifer the son who had turned his back on his family. Lucifer, who had chosen to get out of this stupid fight, who had told Michael _exactly_ where to stuff the attitude. Lucifer, who had smirked at Cas when he’d been given the option of fighting or not and had said, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Castiel was incredibly grateful for his elder brother at that moment in time. He had withheld his questions about Meg – “If you’ve left the fight, why do you have inside men?” – and Lucifer was standing close to him, a knife in his hand, ready to help Castiel save Dean.

The final member of their group was, surprisingly, Becky Rosen. Castiel had tried to convince her, along with Chuck, to stay behind and stay safe. Chuck had agreed easily (“I’d be a liability more than an asset,” his friend had said with a laugh. “I’ll be here for moral support.”).

(Becky, however, had said, “No way am I staying here, Castiel Milton. I can fight and I’m not leaving Dean behind. He’s my friend.” Castiel couldn’t argue after that.)

Now he glanced along their ranks and raised an eyebrow at her, silently wondering if she had changed her mind. Judging by the death glare she shot back at him, Cas had to judge that she had most certainly not.

They were ready.

 

\--- --- ---

 

In the vents, the match hit the fuse and Gabriel scarpered backwards, nearly breaking Sam’s nose with his boot.

 

\--- --- ---

 

Crowley smirked at his daughter across the parlour. He raised a drink in a silent toast to her sneaky ways.

BANG.

On his feet, he turned to the closest minion – Alastair – and snapped, “What was that?”

The pale man frowned as he listened. Then the siren sounded – fire. Crowley snarled and swore even as Alastair started to smirk.

“I believe our guests have arrived earlier than anticipated, Mr Crowley.”

 

\--- --- ---

 

“That’s our cue, Dean-o,” Meg told him, shifting her grip with a snarl as he swayed a little. “Pull yourself together or we both die!”

“Right,” he gasped, trying to take his own weight as she pulled them through the door and into a well-lit corridor. It reminded him of a hospital, weirdly enough. All of it was – sterile.

“Dean, focus!” she snapped into his ear. “We don’t have long before they find us!” She pulled him forwards again and his stomach lurched violently. “Don’t throw up,” she warned him as she tugged on him again. “We don’t have time for any of that pansy bull shit.”

“Doing my best,” he managed to grind out around locked teeth and stumbled forwards with her, down the corridor towards a set of stairs.

Stairs – also not nice.

 

\--- --- ---

 

The door banged open in front of Michael and he raised the knife with a grin. One of the Campbells threw himself at Winchester with an angry yell while the other two men went for Bobby and Ellen. Behind them, Bela pushed Ruby out the door and Crowley brought up the rear.

“Crowley’s mine,” Michael said coolly and Raphael nodded, heading for Bela.

The head of the Milton family smiled as his eyes locked with the Masters’ patriarch. Crowley looked somewhere between nervous, pissed off, and disgustingly excited.

Michael knew the feeling. This had been a long time coming.

 

\--- --- ---

 

 “Going somewhere, Sammy?” Sam flinched and glanced backwards; the three of them had been making their way back to the cars as ordered, away from the fighting when he heard the voice.

“Ruby,” he said quietly, reaching for his knife. “You should get out of here. It’s not safe.”

She laughed, and it wasn’t the pretty laugh that had charmed him that first day, but something altogether crueller and more vicious. “Fuck you, Sam!” she yelled. “This is my family! You don’t fuck with my family!”

Gabriel stepped up beside Sam as Ash meandered vaguely behind her. “And you don’t fuck with ours,” Gabriel shot back, pulling the knife out of Sam’s pocket and pointing it in her direction. “You touch one of us, we burn your house down.”

“Funny that you would burn someone’s home down, Sammy,” she said, a wild smirk on her face. “Especially after how your own Mummy died.”

Sam flinched and Gabriel growled – actually growled, which was something Sam was going to mock him to hell and back for later.

“Ruby, just let us go. We don’t need to get violent.”

Ruby smirked. “I was just talking about the irony. I mean, after your Mummy died so violently too… such a shame. Well, it’s not so different, is it? Michael ordered both fires, after all.”

Sam stilled.

Beside him, Gabriel asked, “What?”

 

\--- --- ---

 

Raphael ducked and watched in horror as his knife flew away from him.

 

\--- --- ---

 

Becky hit the floor with a groan and Andy met her attacker quickly, ducking under the next fist and barging into his stomach.

 

\--- --- ---

 

Lucifer twisted around desperately, eyes searching for his brother and Crowley. Where were they?

It had been a long time since the lost Milton brother’s heart pounded so frantically at the thought of his brother. Michael. Michael. Mi-chael. Mi-chael. Mi-chael-Mi-chael-Mi-chael.

 

\--- --- ---

 

“Going somewhere, Meg darling?”

“Azazel,” Meg laughed. Dean slumped away from her, onto the wall, as she pulled out her knife and turned to face their attacker. The door was right there and they were almost – almost – out. Dean was so close to freedom that he could smell it on the air.

He started to shuffle towards the door even as the smoke thickened while Meg fought Azazel behind him. To Dean’s blurry mind they were two streaks of light – Azazel like fire, surrounded by a sickening yellow that made Dean think of destruction and cruelty and cowardice, while Meg was a streak of red, dark enough to be purple. She was blood and cruelty too, but there was something different about her – she reminded him of power and of love and the way Dean felt when he thought of Sam being hurt: like he would tear apart the world with his own hands, even if all he had left were bloody stumps, just to protect him. Meg was safe in her violence.

His hand hit the door lever and he managed to push it so it swung open just as Meg let out a laugh of triumph. There was a figure – pale, brown hair, blue eyes – that bolted towards him. _Cas_. Relief rushed through him and left him light headed.

Dean twisted to watch Azazel’s body hit the floor and grinned at the fight’s victor. Meg flicked her hair back and smirked back at him.

 

\--- --- ---

 

Snap. Michael’s nose broke under the punch and he blinked up at Crowley, who towered above him and blocked out most of the light from the fire. Michael briefly thought about the significance of that until another punch stopped him from wondering at all.

“I’m so glad we could do this, Michael,” Crowley said as he lifted the knife for his final blow. “In the end, it always comes down to this. You and me. No matter what choices we make, what plans we alter, we were always going to end up here.”

Michael saw death coming and his thoughts quickly turned to his brother.

Lu-ci-fer-Lu-ci-fer-Lu-ci-fer.

 

\--- --- ---

 

Ruby crumpled under Ash’s blow, but Sam felt like he was the one who had been hit. He turned instantly to Gabriel, eyes silently begging his best friend to tell him – to reassure him – that this wasn’t true. That it couldn’t be true.

Gabriel stared back at him, aghast.

“No,” Sam whispered. His whole body staggered back, the adrenalin of his fight-or-flight instinct kicking in. “You – it can’t be true! Gabriel!” When his friend said nothing, Sam gave in.

Gabriel watched his friend sprint into darkness.

 

\--- --- ---

 

She was stepping forwards to join Dean when her whole body jolted and – oh god – a knife pushed through her stomach, moving all the way through until it fell out the other side.

Meg looked down, bemused, before glancing back up. She opened her mouth to speak.

Blood.

Dean couldn’t think. He was still and unmoving as Alastair smirked over Meg’s shoulder and wiggled his fingers at Dean – through Meg’s stomach. He laughed.

Cas let out a distressed sound as his hand joined Dean’s, arms supporting the body that had stilled and was no longer working.

Alastair grinned at them, blood on his mouth too. “She’s looser than you were, Dean-o,” he said, and behind Dean, Cas gagged in shock and horror. Dean couldn’t move, but he was being dragged away. He could hear words – meaningless words – sounding above him and that was his friend’s voice telling him it would be okay but it couldn’t be it couldn’t be it couldn’t be it couldn’t be. He had to get Meg. Meg – he had to reach Meg! She was waiting for him right there and she needed his help. She’d saved him so he had to save her he could do it he could he could –

“Dean, please,” Cas whispered, his broken voice reaching Dean through the haze in his mind. “Please.”

Dean stopped fighting and let his friend drag him away. His eyes were locked onto that image – that – that image of Meg covered in blood and Alastair smirking at him, watching and waiting.

And then the man called, “Until next time, Dean!” and let Meg’s body slump to the floor.

 


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, all adoration goes to Felicia, who managed to talk me through writer's block and edited this. her user name is waywardmuppet which I totally did not get wrong last time I posted about her.   
> Michael and Lucifer kind of crept up on me but it had to happen. I love them too much not to let them in.  
> I'm not going to warn you guys what is in each chapter for triggers and stuff because seriously the whole rape/non-con, PTSD and torture are in the tags. Please read them if you are worried about those things.  
> I love every single on of you. Thank you for reading.

“Welcome back, Mr Winchester.”

The voice was a new one. Dean blinked slowly as the blackness faded away and he looked for the source of the sound, tensing on instinct.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” the same voice said and a head popped into his vision, smiling eyes peering down at him. “I’m Lucifer Milton. Call me Luce, if you want. You’re safe, Dean. You’ve been unconscious for about a day, but your injuries are healing nicely. No concussion, thankfully, and no internal bleeding or anything.”

“Where am I?” Dean asked, or tried to at least. His voice was a wreck and Lucifer – what the fuck kind of name was that? The Milton family needed _help_ – picked up a glass and held it to his lips.

“Slowly,” the doctor (or so Dean assumed) ordered. “Little sips.” Dean still tried to glug it, but when he wasn’t holding the glass (and yeah, not so keen on moving because just lying here propped up enough to drink hurt like a bitch) he could hardly control the speed of the water.

Never before had water tasted so good.

When the glass was gone, Lucifer smiled at him and said, “You were saying?”

“Where –” Shit, he sounded awful. “Where am I?” Dean managed, trying again. He glanced around the room quickly, eyes roaming in panic. They were alone, as far as he could tell, which let some of the worry ease out of him. He was in a bed with an IV attached – a hospital? It didn’t _look_ like any hospital he’d ever been to, what with the yellow walls and the plush carpet and the furniture that was distinctly – well, not hospital.

“You’re at the Milton house,” Lucifer told him calmly. “Dean, I promise you that you will come to no further harm here. I take my duties as a doctor seriously, you know, and besides, Cas would hardly let anyone see you after he got you to me. You’re safe.”

“Safe?” His tone was mocking. “Not when Alastair’s alive.”

“He wouldn’t dare come here,” Lucifer reassured him as he fiddled with a monitor. “Besides, Michael has upped his security and had Naomi bring in the big guns. Everyone is on high alert now.” He refilled the glass of water and asked casually, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got tortured,” Dean replied with a grunt as he glanced down at himself. His left arm was in plaster and he could feel bandages around his stomach and chest. “How bad is it?” he asked, the movement setting off a throbbing ache in his lower back that made him want to curl up and cry. Uh. Not cry. Definitely didn’t think that.

Winchesters don’t freaking _cry_.

“Pretty bad, Dean-o,” Lucifer said and Dean flinched at the name. If Lucifer saw, he didn’t comment. “Broken wrist and both your ankles are pretty bad – the joints are over-extended. I take it you struggled against your restraints?” At Dean’s grimace, Lucifer nodded. “Of course. Well, the burns on your stomach are healing well. There will be some scarring from them, but that should fade in time. No skin grafts necessary, thankfully. However,” he continued, looking far more serious. “There will be other scarring, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered. “I guessed.” He knew what Lucifer was referring to.

Breathe, he reminded himself sternly as his stomach rebelled. The thoughts of Alastair were twisting in his mind and he panicked for a second, remembering hands on him and a knife – that knife – burning cold against his skin.

“Dean,” Lucifer said. “Dean, it’s okay. You’re not there anymore. You’re safe now.”

“Right. Yup.” Dean grit his teeth, nodding once. “Safe.” He stared at his cast for a minute more before taking a deep breath and saying, “Anyone else die trying to get me out? I – did Balthazar survive? Is Sam okay?”

Lucifer chuckled. “More questions than leaves on a tree,” he said, helping Dean to sit up with brisk movements. Dean flinched from the initial touch but then settled into it; you’re safe, he reminded himself. “Sam’s fine. Balthazar’s a little bashed up and is stuck in a bed not dissimilar to this one, but is otherwise okay. Better off than you, perhaps. No one else died, either.” He stilled for a second and sighed. “Meg worked for me.”

“She said,” Dean told him quietly. He thought back briefly to the brunette with the wicked grin and sharp wit. Then the flash of a hand piercing through a stomach made his own gut twist again and he banished the thoughts. “She was awesome, Lucifer.”

“Yeah,” Lucifer agreed sadly. “She was a great kid. Like a little sister to me.” He sighed. “Other than that…” the doctor cleared his throat once, shifting his eyes a bit before focusing back on Dean. “Michael – he got beat up – nothing major, thankfully. I ah, I patched him up, too. Your Dad’s also fine–”

“My Dad’s here?” Dean almost lunged off the bed. “What? Where? Where’s Sam? Has he said anything?”

“Dean, calm down,” Lucifer said, instinctively going to restrain him.

Dean flinched – he was doing a lot of that, he realized – and pushed the doctor away angrily. “Don’t touch me!”

There were footsteps in the hall and Lucifer released him quickly, stepping back with his hands up. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he apologised briefly. “Please don’t get up. You’re not fully healed and you shouldn’t be trying to walk with those ankles. Also, your back and hips –”

“ _Shut up_!” The outburst surprised even Dean. He hadn’t meant to say anything, let alone yell that loudly, at his freaking _doctor_. The door opened behind Lucifer and Cas poked his head in, followed shortly by Sam and Bobby. “Just – shut up, okay?”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Lucifer assured him. “I’m not going to hurt you and I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, but I do need to finish telling you about your wounds–”

“You don’t need to tell me shit,” Dean exclaimed with a shaky laugh, trying to force more words out without sounding like a complete ass. “I was there, okay? I remember them.” Lucifer looked uncertainly at him, but Dean turned his attention to the new arrivals. “Hey,” he greeted them with a shy smile.

“Dean!” Sam exclaimed and ran in. For a second, Dean was frightened Sam was going to hug him (because that would _hurt_ , more than the fact that he was frightened of his brother touching him, he told himself) but Sam stopped just short and stared down at the bed instead.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean said with a smile. “You okay?”

“Dean!” Sam protested. “I – why – oh my God, are you okay?”

Dean chuckled at his little brother’s horror. “Sammy, I’m good. Lucifer’s patched me up just fine.”

“I heard you yell,” he said quietly, biting his lip in his uncertainty. Dean glanced at Cas and Bobby, who still stood in the door, before turning his attention to his brother’s face.

“Yeah,” Dean said, swallowing. “I…”

“Sam. Remember what we talked about?” Castiel said, stepping into the room to join his friends.

“Yeah! I just wanted to make sure he was okay,” Sam said instantly. “I’ll leave you alone-”

“Hey,” Dean said, interrupting with a frown. “None of that. I’m okay. A bit banged up, yeah–”

“Mr Winchester,” Lucifer cut in with a matching frown, “It’s significantly more than that. You’re going to be on bed rest for at least three days, and you really shouldn’t be back at school for a week at least–”

“I’m fine,” Dean cut him off doggedly. When Lucifer raised a sceptical eyebrow, he snorted and sat up, swinging his legs out of bed. Lucifer scowled but made no move to stop him, so Dean lurched upwards, hoping that if he did it quickly the pain would go away faster.

Typically, as with all his ‘good ideas’, that was _not_ the case.

Black encroached on his vision as he groaned at the movement, staggering, damned lucky Cas was there to catch him as he almost fell.

_Hands on him, whispering words into his ear as he was pulled to safety._

Cas. Safety.

Huh, Dean thought as he blinked the black away. So by saving him, Cas had somehow managed to become his safe harbour. Oddly enough, Dean was okay with that.

A small hand touched his arm and he flinched away violently, into Cas’ warm hold. He groaned at the burning pain that lanced through his arm with all the movement, deciding that next time maybe he’d listen to the damned doctor.

“Dean?” That was Lucifer’s voice and Dean flinched again, pulling away from the others and taking Cas with him.

“Dean.” Cas’ voice wasn’t questioning, but soothing, and Dean looked up into his friend’s eyes. “You’re safe.”

Dean let out a shaky breath and tried to laugh. It came out forced and weak, but the effort was worth 10/10, right? “Yeah,” he agreed. “Safe. Good.” He’d been saying that a lot, recently.

Cas frowned at him. “Dean, I promise you that you are safe.”

“Yeah,” Dean said again, finding himself wondering if his vocabulary had been permanently impaired by the trauma or something. “No, I’m okay. Just…not interested in being touched at the moment.” Cas stiffened and immediately began to withdraw, but Dean grabbed his wrist tightly. “No – I. Not you, Cas. You’re good.”

Cas frowned, uncertain, but when Dean wobbled again in an attempt to support his own weight (and fuck him if that wasn’t going to get old quick), Cas wrapped his arm back around Dean’s shoulders to support him.

“So,” Dean said, doing his best to sound cheerful. “How was your day?”

“Dean,” Sam said, and his voice made Dean smile properly. He was so _annoyed_ that Dean had to laugh at his little brother as he continued. “How do you _think_ my day was?”

Dean smirked at Sam and Cas shifted beside him to look at him. Dean looked back and realised that, yeah, he was going to have to do this now. “Uh,” he started eloquently, glancing back at his brother and the two adults behind him. “Could you guys… uh…”

“Let’s give them some time alone, shall we?” Lucifer suggested and Dean felt a rush of gratitude towards Cas’ older brother. Guy was perceptive. “I believe Gabriel wants to see you, Samuel.”

“It’s _Sam_ ,” Sam muttered, but left after one last look at his brother. Dean wondered if he was reassuring himself that Dean was still there.

Bobby hesitated at the door, but stopped only long enough to say, “It’s good to have you back, boy,” before he left, Lucifer quietly closing the door behind them. And then Dean and Cas were alone.

Without speaking, Castiel helped Dean back to the bed and sat him down gingerly, as if he were about to break. Dean hated that. Sure, he was a bit banged up, but he wasn’t made of _glass_.

Castiel sat down and looked at Dean silently. Dean shifted under the scrutiny.

“So,” he started. “Uh.”

“Dean,” Castiel said quietly. “I am very sorry for failing you.”

“What?” Dean’s mouth was hanging open.

Ploughing on and ignoring the interruption, Castiel went on. “It was my job to protect you. I promised you that you would be safe, and I failed my duty. For that, I must ask that you accept my profuse apologies–”

“Whoa!” Dean said, holding his hands up. “Cas, stop. I’m not mad at you, man – Jesus. No. It wasn’t your fault. How on earth could you have stopped any of that shit?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel admitted, frowning at his friend. “But it was my duty and–”

“Shut up, Cas,” Dean said fondly. “You – uh – saved me. That’s enough, okay, man? You don’t need to apologise. Totally not your fault, and it wasn’t your ‘duty’ or whatever.”

Castiel was still frowning, but he didn’t repeat his apologies so Dean guessed that he accepted Dean’s words. His friend seemed thoughtful and worried, and Dean sighed inwardly. Emotions. He was going to have to talk about _emotions._

God save him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, struggling past his instincts to run the fuck away from this.

Castiel looked up at him and the dam burst. Metaphorically. (Shut up, Dean, obviously that was a metaphor). “I was _terrified_ ,” Castiel spat and Dean flinched (again, dammit) at the anger in his tone. “I thought that you were dead and _then_ I realised that you were being tortured. I organised a team to save you of course, but it took hours and every _moment_ I knew you were being hurt. I can’t imagine what happened to you but then I find you and you were covered in blood and semen–” Dean flinched once more, but for an entirely different reason, “–and you’re asking me what’s wrong?”

Dean stared at his friend, blinking. “Oh,” he said finally. “You’re… worried about me?” It came out as a question and Cas glared at him for it, as if the answer should be obvious. Dean smirked at his friend and chuckled. Cas’ glare-volume increased but it didn’t stop the laughter, and that felt so fucking good. He was home, he was safe, and he was with Cas. What else could he want?

“You idiot,” he said fondly, cuffing Cas gently on the head. “Come on, you can tell me what went down whilst I was out and you can _start_ with why the hell my Dad is here.”

 

\--- --- ---

 

Lucifer strode into the room before he could talk himself out of it.

Michael looked up. He was sitting in the chair by the fire, drinking a glass of whiskey, and Lucifer was reminded briefly of their father years before, whenever he’d been in trouble. Then his brother looked up and their eyes locked, the resemblance dissipating quickly; his father’s eyes had always been filled with irritation or disappointment at the sight of him. Michael’s were conflicted, fear and pain obvious in them for the second that they were left unguarded. Then the shield was pulled up and Lucifer lost his brother again, back once more to the man who had thrown him away so easily that yes, it still _hurt_.

“How are you feeling?” Lucifer asked politely, glancing around the room to see Gabriel curled up on a cushioned chair, fast asleep. He lowered his voice and said, “The pain is bearable, I assume?”

Michael turned away from him again and his voice was cool and level. “I am as well as can be expected.”

“No need to thank me,” Lucifer said, because he couldn’t stop himself from pushing his brother. His _brother_ , Lucifer repeated in his mind.

“I know there isn’t,” Michael agreed, still completely indifferent and calm. Lucifer hated that with a passion. He would take Michael’s anger and hatred and pain and fear and anything, _anything at all_ , over his indifference. “You’re still here.”

Lucifer couldn’t hold back his wince. “My patients need me.”

“Patient,” Michael corrected.

“No,” Lucifer retorted. “Patients. Dean, of course, is far too unstable for me to leave. Raphael was injured, as were Becky and Ellen. Don’t expect me to abandon people who need me. Even you, Michael. You can’t ask me to walk away from you when you were so close to death.”

“Your Hippocratic Oath, I take it,” Michael observed, sipping from his glass. Lucifer was so angry that Michael’s hand wasn’t even shaking as he lifted it. _Damn him_ for being so calm, as if nothing about this actually mattered.

“No, Mikey,” he snapped, and the nickname slipped out as if it has been minutes rather than years since he last said the word. “Love, you stupid, pompous, indifferent _idiot_. I lo–”

“ _Silence!_ ” Michael was on his feet, fists clenched, the glass of whiskey spilled on the carpet between them. Gabriel was on his feet suddenly, awoken by Michael’s anger, but Lucifer could spare no attention to the youngest Milton.

“Michael,” Lucifer said quietly, plaintively, and Michael shuddered.

“No,” his twin said. “You left.”

“I would have stayed!” Lucifer told him, and there’s the desperate truth, out there at last. “If you had asked me to, I would have. I would have taken you with me or I would have stayed by your side – you only had to _say the fucking word_.”

“No,” Michael repeated. “You left. You walked out and left me and took your stains of corruption with you. You don’t – you don’t – you can’t come back here and break everything – _everything_ I have built. You don’t have the _right_.”

Lucifer had spent years trying to pretend that his brother hadn’t ripped his heart out of his chest. He had managed to convince himself that Michael’s words would never hurt him again.

Years of work now crumbled into pieces.

“Michael–” Gabriel whispered, and the tension between the two elder brothers disappeared, Michael turning to the youngest and Lucifer collapsing into himself quietly. “I–”

“You should go to bed, Gabriel,” Michael said. “It’s late and you’re tired. I am sorry I woke you.”

“I–”

“Go to bed, Gabriel,” Lucifer told him and his little brother stared at him, wide-eyed. Gabriel had been six when Lucifer had left and the elder brother remembered the funny, spirited child he had been. This – this worried and withdrawn brother – this was wrong. So he smiled, determined to make this at least a little better, before he said lightly, “Do you want me to read you a story?”

“I’m not a _kid_ , Luce,” Gabriel grumbled good-naturedly.

“Well then you’d better go put yourself to bed,” Lucifer teased. “Big boys manage that much themselves.”

“Urgh,” Gabriel complained. “I hate brothers.”

“Love you too, pest,” Lucifer told him fondly, ruffling his hair, and Gabriel slipped out of the room. Lucifer glanced up just in time to see Michael leave the room as well and sighed.

“He’ll come around,” Castiel said from the door and Lucifer jumped. Glancing around, he saw his brother leaning against the door frame, looking tired but less worn than before Dean had woken up.

“No, he won’t,” he said with a small smile of acceptance. “He hates me.”

“He loves you,” Castiel said. The young man swallowed and said, “I know, Luce. I was there when you – when you two fought that last time.”

Lucifer’s stomach dropped along with his jaw. “I–Cas–”

“It’s okay,” Castiel told him quietly. He stepped into the room and crossed to Lucifer’s side while Luce’s head spun. “I don’t pretend to understand, but you love each other. And – I’ve had to come to terms with this myself lately – but love is never wrong. I thought it was at first, but…” He trailed off and shrugged.

Lucifer choked on a laugh. Oh God, this was everything he’d ever feared.

“I’m gay, Lucifer,” Castiel told him. His little brother’s voice was earnest as he spoke. “I thought God hated me for that, but he couldn’t hate me if he brought Dean into my life.” He wrinkled his nose and sighed. “That was very emotional. Dean would hate it.”

Lucifer laughed again, but this time he didn’t choke. He laughed at the image of his little brother because it was either that or cry.

“Incest isn’t the same as homosexuality,” Lucifer whispered. Castiel just shrugged.

“Love is love,” he said, as if that was the answer to everything in the world.

 

\--- --- ---

 

Dean stared at the mirror.

He could do this.

He knew what to expect, after all. Like he’d told Lucifer, he’d been there whilst it was happening. Rationally, he knew every single one of his injuries because Alastair, master torturer that he was, knew how to keep his victims fully conscious while he worked.

In reality, Dean didn’t know if he could face what had happened to his body. He knew there would be grievous injuries and that, from the pain, it would take a long time to recover. He could work out that he had been burnt and sliced into, beaten, raped. He just didn’t know if he could look at the aftermath without breaking down.

His face wasn’t so bad, he decided. Split lip and bruises on both cheeks from being slapped around and punched, but they would heal soon enough. His wrist was broken and wrapped in a cast. Those were the only injuries he could see.

He could do this.

He pulled his shirt off and swallowed down the urge to gag.

Clear gauze covered his stomach where the brands had been used to burn him, but that was the least of his worries. His eyes were drawn with morbid fascination to the words.

‘Alastair’ was carved down his right arm, the ‘A’ on his shoulder and the letters running downwards so it was written vertically. What struck him most in that moment was that the bottom of the ‘L’ was crooked.

Dean laughed. Fucking _bastard_ couldn’t even carve right. He was forever marked with his name and it wasn’t even _neat_.

He had to choke down the vomit again.

Next, he looked at the word on his collarbone. ‘Worthless’. Shit. Alastair had really been gunning for every one of his self-esteem issues, right?

The word ‘broken’ was carved across his chest and his eyes blurred, so he took a moment to blink away the tears and just breathe. He could do this. He _had_ to do this.

His eyes traced down, seeing the bruised pattern across his ribs and taking in the burns. He could make out the top of another cut on his hip bone and ripped at his trousers to get to it, shoving them down with a grunt that was _not_ pained. And it most certainly wasn’t a _whimper_ , either.

He looked at the cut. A heart with the letter ‘A’ in it, a cruel parody of some high school romance and Dean turned to the toilet to vomit. With hardly anything in his stomach, the bile that burned his throat left him gagging on the taste, and then he was dry heaving with nothing left to spew out.

He choked back the gags and stood again, flushing the toilet without looking at it.

He turned back to the mirror.

Down, down, down his eyes went, ignoring the boxers and looking next at the last word carved onto him – _into him_. ‘Used’, across his left thigh, on the inside.

Dean laughed, because it was either that or sob and he couldn’t break down. He had promised himself, way back in that hell, that there was _nothing_ they could do to break him and that was the truth. He wouldn’t break that promise. He was fine, God damn it, just _fine_. He was a bit beat up, but that would heal and he was fine.

Fine.

Just fine.

He re-dressed himself with jerky movements, limping to the sink to wash out his mouth before he returned to his bed and sat down, staring at the wall as if it could give him the way out of this hell.

He was fine.

Just fine.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry. I am the worst at this I swear to god. I have actually had this chapter written for two months, but my Beta has been absent so I've edited it myself. If anyone is interested in beta-ing I would be grateful if you make contact!  
> Short chapter, rubbish chapter, just to get us started again. I've got a few issues to resolve and many more chapters to come!

When Dean woke up, it was once again to Lucifer’s voice.

“Good morning, Dean,” the doctor was saying, but his tone was different. He seemed quieter, perhaps _morose_. Dean frowned as he forced his eyes open with a groan.

He coughed, clearing his throat. “Hey,” he greeted, and Lucifer helped him sit up. The brisk, impersonal movements were surprisingly – well, _okay_. Dean could manage to accept this touch without tensing up too much, which was a pleasant surprise. Lucifer smiled at him as he handed over the glass of water and a couple of painkillers of some kind. Lucifer hadn’t told him what he’d be taking.

He’d probably checked with John as to whether Dean had any allergies, and then asked Sam when Dad hadn’t known.

 _No, Dean_ , he thought to himself. _Don’t be bitter right now_. He took the pills gratefully, swallowing them with a couple of sips of water – his throat was still raw and abused, so it hurt to strain his throat – and handed the glass back. His hand was shaky from the lack of sugar in his blood stream.

He _had_ tried to eat the night before, but had (yet again) vomited it back up. He hoped that he’d be able to start eating again today, even if it was just so he didn’t have to have an IV drip.

Dean would kill himself (or someone else) before he had to keep an IV. He wasn’t an _invalid_. He was fine.

“Breakfast is served downstairs,” Lucifer told him, busying himself with putting the pills away and avoiding Dean’s eyes. “It’s a family breakfast, and you don’t need to eat much, but please do try and eat something, if only for your own peace of mind. I don’t enjoy having you on an IV drip.”

“Sure,” Dean replied, forcing down the sense of panic that threatened to overtake him. The idea of being with other people kind of terrified him and then there was the added problem of how he was even going to get down the stairs. Lucifer wanted him on bed rest, after all, but now he was telling him to go downstairs?

There was a knock on the door and Castiel peeped in, smiling. “Good morning, Dean.”

“Morning, Cas,” Dean replied hoarsely.

Lucifer glanced up at his brother, coloured, and made for the door quickly. “I’ll leave the two of you alone, then. Castiel, do help Dean down to breakfast; I’m still not happy with him walking, although Michael insists.”

Ah. There was the answer to that question. Sometimes it was like Lucifer could read his mind.

Cas let his brother leave, watching his back a little sadly – or so Dean thought, but he wasn’t the greatest at emotions, so he might have been wrong. After all, Cas’ emotions weren’t like anyone else’s he’d ever met.

“How are you feeling?” Castiel asked Dean as he slipped into the room, towards the bed. Dean sighed.

“I’m gonna get asked that a lot, aren’t I?”

He didn’t expect an answer, but Cas gave him one anyway. “I expect so. Everyone was very worried about you and humans do require constant reassurance as to things that they are worried about.”

Dean had to stop himself from laughing at Cas again, but instead he just smiled at his friend. “I’m okay,” he said instead, twisting and putting his feet on the floor. “I need a shower-”

“No showers,” Castiel informed him, looking apologetic. “Not for another couple of days. The wounds-”

“Yeah, can’t get the dressings wet, I know. When do the stitches come out?”

“They’ll dissolve on their own. Lucifer didn’t want to prolong your treatment for any longer than it had to be.” Castiel leant forwards and helped Dean to his feet, strong hands firm on his sides. Dean had heard people refer to Castiel as scrawny before, but the opposite was true; his friend had the lean body of a runner and the strength of someone who had been trained to fight from a young age. (That was only part of the reason that Dean wanted to fuck him, honest.)

Cas helped him to the bathroom and it seemed like he was going to help him actually use the loo, but Dean shooed him away with a scowl. “What you gonna do, hold it for me?” he muttered and Cas flushed, shutting the door with a bang.

Dean smirked. At least teasing Cas never changed.

He used the facilities, splashed water on his face and managed to get his hair into some semblance of order before he glanced at his clothes. He was wearing someone else’s pyjamas, and he didn’t think he had any clothes here (nor did he particularly want to contemplate getting changed as it sounded painful) so he hoped that Michael wouldn’t mind his informality.

Cas held out a robe for him as he opened the door and Dean smiled, grateful that his friend could either read his mind or just knew him that well.

If it was the reading-minds thing, Dean would like Castiel to know that while yes, he wants to sleep with him, he doesn’t actually need that in their friendship to be fulfilled and all that shit. Also, was this a hereditary trait because Lucifer could do it too and it was a little creepy.

Dean put on the robe, doing it up, and allowed Cas to wrap an arm around his waist to help him downstairs – only for his friend’s peace of mind, of course. Cas didn’t say a word when Dean wavered at the stairs, or wobbled halfway down. He just helped him carry on and Dean wondered if Castiel was actually a person or just a figment of his imagination – no one could be that, well, perfect, right? (But then Dean remembered that Castiel was actually the homophobic brother of a religious gangster and thought, hey, maybe he is real.)

The door to the dining room was open and everyone looked up as Cas helped Dean limp into the room. He glanced around, taking roll call, and counted Sam, Bobby, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, Anna, Balthazar – looking terribly beaten up but still smirking at Dean – Rachel, the two children, Inias and Hester, and Michael all there. Lucifer was the only absent one – well, aside from John.

“Morning,” Dean greeted roughly.

“Good morning, Dean,” Michael said quietly. He too looked a little worse for wear this morning, bruising across his face and nose in a pattern that told Dean it had been broken in the fight. Something was clearly bothering him as well, a slight frown marring his face, but Dean shrugged it off as the situation they were all in. “It’s good to see you on your feet.”

Dean’s lips twitched as Cas helped him gently into a seat. Despite the efforts his friend went to in his attempt to ensure Dean’s comfort, he couldn’t withhold a small wince as he eased onto his bruised backside. “Well,” Dean said. “I’m not sure how much of it’s me and how much of it’s Cas’ best efforts to keep me from falling over.”

“The end is the same,” Michael said, acknowledging Dean’s attempt at humour with a wry twist of his lips.

“It is good to see you, Dean,” Rachel assured him at Michael’s side. Inias smiled at Dean with wide eyes and Hester frowned, being old enough to know that something was very wrong after Dean had come into her home.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Dean replied, shooting a look at Sam and Bobby. “Uh, where’s Dad?” He figured he might as well bite the bullet now.

Sam looked down at his hands and Gabriel leant his shoulder against his friend in solidarity. Bobby took the time to take a sip of his coffee before answering, “He left.”

Dean blinked in shock, eyes darting around the table to gauge everyone’s reactions. Uriel and Raphael were both uninteresting in the conversation, while Anna was watching him with concern. Balthazar met his eyes steadily and smiled at him, a little bit of sadness tinging his eyes, though he tried to cover it up with humour. Well, Dean could respect that as a coping mechanism. Michael was looking at Rachel, who was feeding Inias, and Cas was quite beside him.

Well. This was awkward. “So,” Dean said as Cas quietly buttered toast and placed it on his plate. “How are you, Balthazar?”

Balthazar smirked. “Better than you.”

“Well, that’s a given. I mean, you didn’t go up against Alastair,” Dean teased, trying to lighten the atmosphere. Cas went further into his shell, but Uriel chuckled and Michael flashed Dean a look of respect. “You’d be worse off than me.”

“How dare you,” Balthazar teased back, acting outraged. “Why, I could take Alastair.”

“You got knocked out by a car, man, I don’t know.” Dean winked at him and Balthazar chuckled, acknowledging the point. “Seriously though. You okay?”

“Yeah,” the man said, and Anna patted his arm. “Three cracked ribs, minor concussion, my shoulder and elbow got dislocated. I lost a bit of blood, but you saved me by calling an ambulance.”

Dean shrugged, uncomfortable with the grateful tone. “I needed it too.”

“Dean, you should eat,” Castiel said quietly and Dean instantly reached for the toast then stopped, chuckled, and switched arms to eat with his other, non-broken one.

“Dude, you’re so whipped,” Gabriel commented brightly.

Dean shrugged, his mouth full of toast, but Cas snapped, “Doing what I say isn’t being whipped, Gabriel. It’s called common sense, something you seriously lack.”

“Ooh, burn,” Sam teased his friend and Gabriel elbowed him cheerfully. “Want some ice?”

Gabriel shot him a wounded look and said theatrically, “Only if you offer me your ice cold heart and let the warm furnace of my love thaw it for you.”

“Dude, eating here,” Dean cut in in protest. “That’s my little brother.”

“Gabriel, that’s inappropriate,” Michael said.

Lucifer chuckled from the doorway as he swept into the room. “And it would have serious, negative consequences, medically speaking.” Michael’s head shot up as his brother entered the room, but Gabriel and Castiel both smiled welcomingly, as did Balthazar and Anna.

Oh. That reminded him. “Michael,” Dean said hoarsely, putting the toast down. His whole body tensed but he cleared his throat as the patriarch glanced at him. “I need to talk to you. I – Crowley told me something and-“

Michael rose smoothly and said, “Perhaps in my office.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed and went to stand, but Castiel placed his hand on his shoulder.

“Michael, Dean should not be walking around-” Cas started, just as Lucifer protested with, “Are you trying to make him worse-?”

“Guys, seriously,” Dean protested, shrugging Cas’ hand off. “You can’t just expect me to sit around. I’ve – I’ve got things to do. I’m not just gonna let you guys protect me and forget about everything. I’ve never been that sort of person.”

Castiel looked him in the eye and, frowning, said, “Dean, letting yourself have time to recover from an ordeal is not weakness. The best way of you healing would be to allow us to help you now so that you are better later.”

“I know, man,” Dean admitted quietly, suddenly aware of everyone’s eyes on them. “But there are some things I’ve got to do.”

“You don’t have to do everything yourself, Dean,” Castiel said, dropping his volume to match Dean’s.

Dean smiled at him, touched despite himself. He quite liked Castiel’s attempt to protect him, even if it pissed him off at the same time. “I know, man,” he repeated. “But I’m just gonna chat with Michael for a minute then I’ll be back.”

Cas frowned, then glanced up at his brother. “Don’t keep him standing. And don’t allow him to walk on his own.”

Dean sighed loudly, standing up and ignoring the pain in his body. “Thanks, Mum. I promise I won’t be out after curfew.”

Castiel sighed just as loudly, but Sam and Balthazar both chuckled as Michael slid an arm around Dean’s waist without permission. Dean, shocked, flinched backwards from the sudden, unwelcome touch, and his heart began to beat fasted in his chest as he took a steadying breath. Michael frowned, noticing.

“I will not harm you, Dean,” he promised quietly, lowering his voice so that only Dean and Cas were close enough to hear him. “I just wish to assist you.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, leaning back into the touch stiffly. “I’m good – just surprised me is all. Let’s do this.” Michael shot him an assessing look, but helped him from the room and down the hall to his study. The room didn’t surprise Dean; it was the stereotypical office from books and movies, with a heavy wooden desk set before a window that overlooked the garden. A couple of trees bloomed in sight and still bore heavy loads of apples, despite the lateness of the season, while some of the leaves were beginning to lose their colour. A few yellow members of the fallen already decorated the green grass, and the light was warm as it filtered through the window. It was a safe haven outside.

Inside, the office had dark green walls and cushions, the wooden floor decorated by a dark green and reddish-brown rug – Dean was sure they had other names for those colours, but while he might have been a little gay, he wasn’t _that_ gay – and bookshelves covered the walls. Most of the books were leather-bound, but Dean caught sight of the Harry Potter books and grinned; even Michael wasn’t that much of a tight-ass.

Michael lowered him into a chair with a small apologetic smile and walked around his desk to seat himself. He surveyed Dean for a minute, who stiffened, feeling for the whole world like a kid called in to see the Principal.

“Firstly,” Michael said at last, “I feel the need to apologise to you, Dean. No,” he held up a hand to stop Dean, who had opened his mouth to protest. “I assured you that you would be safe and my words were proved false just a few, short hours later. It is unfair of me to ask your forgiveness when I have let you down so grievously.”

“Jeez,” Dean muttered, swallowing. “What is it with you Miltons and your guilt complexes? It wasn’t your fault, Michael. The only one at fault here is Crowley, the psychopath, and A-Alastair.” He hated himself a little for stumbling over the name.

“I thank you for your words, Dean,” Michael said, nodding seriously. “Now, what is it that you wanted to tell me?”

“Crowley,” Dean started slowly, a little unsure. “Well, when I first woke up, Crowley was there to – uh – torment me, I guess. He wanted to rub his power in my face or whatever. But he said something – um – well, something he shouldn’t have known. He said that he knew I’d been welcomed into the, uh, family, and then he said that he had a mole in the family and asked me to guess which one of them it was.”

He let out a whoosh of breath as Michael froze. Dean swallowed, then went on, “Look, I know you don’t want to hear it and it might be utter bullshit but I just – well, I don’t know how he could have known that if he _didn’t_ have someone on the inside and well Lucifer had Meg in Crowley’s house so how is it that shocking that he might have someone here? Except, I mean, well they’re all your family, so I know it seems completely unrealistic, but I just think-”

“Dean,” Michael interrupted calmly. “Stop talking.”

“Right.” Dean stopped talking. Then, because he couldn’t help himself, “Sorry.”

Michael sighed, leaning back in his chair. With his straight posture broken, bruises covering his face and tiredness clearly shining through his eyes, Michael looked almost human for the first time.

He kept silent for a while, then said, “I’ve suspected for a while, of course.” Dean doesn’t reply, unsure of himself and _so freaking far_ out of his depth it was unreal. Michael sighed again and added, “Things go missing. Plans that should work are intercepted. People are compromised… I didn’t realise that the problem was so close to home, but now I see that I should have guessed before.”

“Not your fault,” Dean muttered. “They’re family. You don’t expect family to betray you.”

“Crowley is my cousin,” Michael said, looking sad. “If I know anything, it is that family means nothing these days.” Somehow, thinking about the look in both Lucifer and Michael’s eyes this morning, Dean felt like the man wasn’t just talking about Crowley.

Michael sat up, clapping his hands together. “Here’s what we are going to do,” he started, and Dean could almost see the clogs whirring in his mind. “You will stay here for two more days while you recuperate – ah, no protests, this is doctor’s orders of course – and while you are here you shall watch for me and see if you cannot spot anyone who is not acting as they should. If you cannot find out who the spy is, Castiel will unearth them. There are certain people I would like to be able to rule out but, sadly, it seems that I can trust no one.”

Michael shot to his feet and turned to stare out of the window, clasping his hands behind his back like a soldier. Dean wondered if Michael had ever enlisted, but figured he probably hadn’t if he had the family business to run.

“I will find whoever has betrayed me,” Michael swore calmly, his voice steel. “And I will make them regret the day that the thought crossed their mind. Then I shall kill them for their trouble.”

 _Well_ , Dean thought, leaning back into the chair. _There’s the Michael I know._


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thirteen might be unlucky for some, but not for Dean and Cas (for once). Sorry for the long hiatus. I'm trying to get back into writing but it's not easy. Short chapter today, but I hope you'll be happy with the contents.

Dean opened his eyes, sometime later, and blinked blearily. Quiet voices hum around him, but he doesn’t tense up nervously. Perhaps it was the low timbre of Castiel’s voice, or the fact that he now recognised the yellow room, or maybe he was just still a little drugged from the painkillers, but whatever it was, he’s not nervous.

Blinking his eyes clear, he looked at the three people in the room with him and asked, “Shouldn’t you be at school?” His voice was husky with sleep and the strain of the last few days, and Cas jolted beside him, surprised.

“I thought you were asleep,” Castiel said, smiling down at Dean from where he sat at his bedside.

“I was,” Dean agreed. “Then I woke up. All I do is sleep at the moment.”

Cas smiled and Sam said from the other side of the room, “You need to sleep, Dean.”

“Yeah, and you should be studying,” Dean pointed out. “I won’t kick you out of the house and get you to school if you let me sit up in bed and chat.”

Sam cocked his head and then nodded, conceding the point. “Fair enough.” Gabe smirked a little as Cas reaches over and helps Dean sit up, fussing over his pillows enough to make Dean chuckle lightly.

“Dude, chill out. They’re just pillows; I’m perfectly comfortable.”

Cas relented with a pointed huff and leant back into his chair. “How-?”

“Am I feeling?” Dean finished. “Better. Less achy for one thing, and less tired. Is it really three days before I’m allowed up properly?”

“You know it is, Dean,” Castiel said sternly. “And no, you shan’t be cutting that down at all. You need to rest.”

“Is this what it’s like to have a Mum?” Dean asked teasingly.

“Yup,” Sam said with a grin. Dean arched an eyebrow in confusion and Sam added, “I had Mummy Dean.”

“Hey!” Dean protested. “I am _not_ your Mum, kid. I am far too manly for that.”

“Whatever you say, Mum,” Sam sung cheerfully and Gabe snorted.

“Does he brush your hair and shine your shoes for you?” Gabe asked, interested. “Rachel does it for Hester and Inias.”

“He used to brush my hair, when I was a kid,” Sam offered. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Only because you’ve always insisted on having a mane rather than a haircut,” he pointed out. “I could hardly let you out looking a wreck-”

“You _do_ sound a little like a mother, Dean,” Cas said gently and Dean sighed, surrendering.

“Fine.”

“Aw, Mum, you know you love it,” Sam teased and Dean winked at him.

“I don’t mind a bit of gender-play now and again-”

“Ew!” Sam exclaimed and Gabriel mock-gagged in the corner. Castiel, the innocent soul, only looked confused.

“What is ‘gender-play’?” he asked and Dean guffawed, turning away from his best friend in an attempt to not laugh so hard he’d hurt himself.

“You’re so gross, Dean,” Sam complained. “There are some things I do _not_ need to know about my older brother.”

“I don’t understand,” Cas complained and Dean smirked up at him.

“Dude, think about it,” he hinted. “Gender-play. Play. On. Gender…”

Castiel frowned, wrinkling his forehead as he thought about Dean’s words. “Dean are you suggesting a sexual game wherein one member of the couple pretends to be the other gender?”

Gabriel groaned loudly and buried his face in his arms. “How did you manage to get him to say that? How are you even a teenager, Cas?” Sam laughed at his friend, who glared at him theatrically.

“Yes, Cas,” Dean told him fondly. “I’m talking about that.”

“Why would you wish to engage in such practises?” Castiel was still frowning, but Dean just laughed.

“It can be fun,” he explained. Sam made a gagging noise and Gabriel laughed.

“Dean, I don’t want to know about your sex life,” Sam protested, blushing, and Dean chuckled, catching Cas’ hand in his.

“When you finally get laid you’ll stop living vicariously through me, kiddo,” Dean said with a wink. Castiel smiled down at him, shaking his head fondly.

“I wouldn’t mind helping you out with that,” Gabriel offered Sam with a lewd grin. Dean groaned but Sam just blushed and Dean couldn’t help but think his little brother might feel something like that for Gabriel after all. Maybe it was time to give Sam the ‘You’re my brother and I love you no matter who you love’ talk.

Dean turned to Castiel, who was watching his brother with serious eyes. He raised an eyebrow in question when Cas met his eyes, but his friend only sighed and said, “Gabriel, have you shown Sam the garden?”

“Uh, no,” Gabriel replied. “You want to…?”

Sam seemed hesitant for a second, but, after glancing at Dean, nodded. “Sure. I’ll be back soon, Dean.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine without you for all of five minutes, kid. Go have fun.” Sam followed Gabriel out of the room with only one further backward glance, so Dean figured that was progress. He sighed as he leant back against the pillows.

“Dean,” Castiel said, and the serious note was still there in his voice.

Dean looked up at his friend and frowned, worried. “What’s up, Cas?”

“I have something to tell you,” Castiel said. He wouldn’t meet Dean’s eyes, staring instead down at his hands and fidgeting in an almost nervous manner.

“Dude, you know you can tell me anything,” Dean told him earnestly. When Castiel didn’t reply, he asked, “Cas?”

“I…” Castiel sighed, running a hand through his hair absent-mindedly. “I know this is an inopportune moment, but I find that it would be unfair to you for me to withhold this information any longer. You feel safe when I am around and I do not wish to betray that trust by lying to you. I know this might change things between us-”

“Cas,” Dean interrupted. “You’re babbling. Just tell me what it is you want to say.”

“I believe I have fallen in love with you.”

Oh.

Oh _wow_.

Dean knew his mouth was open and he was staring unblinkingly at Castiel, which mustn’t have been an attractive look on him, but he couldn’t help it. Really? Castiel was – he was homophobic! And religious! And hated gay people!

“Dean?” Castiel asked, nervousness even more clear now as he shifted in his seat. “I know what I have said in the past must have made you think that this would never be a problem and if you are heterosexual I will understand entirely, of course; I do not expect reciprocation-”

“ _Really_?” Dean asked, finding his voice again.

“Of course,” Cas said, frowning. “I would never expect anything from you. Your friendship is gift enough.”

“No,” Dean interrupted. “I mean – really? In love with me?”

“Well, yes,” Cas said.

Dean grinned. He knew he was smiling like an idiot but he couldn’t help it. He’d never expected this to happen. “Thank fuck,” he said reverently. “I was totally freaked out I was going to freak you out with my massive crush on you and you’d leave me.”

“Never,” Castiel swears instantly. His eyes are wide, too. “You… feel for me? Romantically?”

“Castiel,” Dean said, leaning forward in the bed to grab his hand. “I’m in love with you too, you idiot.”

Cas stared down at their joined hands in shock. “Really?”

Dean just laughed, joy bubbling out of him. “I know it’s really soon and we’re probably acting like stupid teenagers,” he said, “But – the whole time I was with Alistair, the only thought that kept me going was getting back to you. I knew you were coming for me. I’m sorry we argued-”

“Don’t be,” Castiel interrupted, tightening his hold on Dean’s hand. “We were both wrong. Let’s forget it.” He sighed. “ _Dean_.”

“Cas,” Dean replied, still smiling.

“Say it again?” Castiel asked, tentative.

“Castiel Milton, I am in love with you,” Dean said sternly, then laughed in jubilation.

“I love you too, Dean.” Cas grinned then, wide and care-free, and chuckled too. “I was so certain that I had pushed you away with my homophobia and my family and then, after what happened to you, I just couldn’t _not_ realise how much I loved you. I was so frightened-”

“I’m here now,” Dean said quietly. “I’m safe and I’m not going anywhere, Cas.”

“I’m never letting you go again,” Cas told him. “I can’t lose you – not after…” He trailed off, unable to find the words, but Dean knew.

“I know, Cas,” he told him quietly. “You’re my best friend, Cas, and I love you.”

“Thank God,” Castiel said fervently and Dean’s smiled just got wider.

 

\--- --- ---

 

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m getting pretty tired of that question,” Dean said, smiling at Lucifer over Castiel’s head. “Hey.”

“Hello, Dean, Cas,” Lucifer greeted, striding into the room. He glanced at their joined hands and smiled briefly, before his mask of professionalism returned. “Michael wanted me to check if you were well enough to come and sit downstairs today.”

Dean thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “If Cas sticks around, sure. I feel safer with him there.” It’s more honest than he meant to be, but it was the truth, so Dean didn’t want to hide _too_ much.

Castiel smiled down at their joint hands.

“Congratulations, by the way,” Lucifer added. “It’s nice to see some happiness in the family for once.” Dean blushed but Castiel smiled at his elder brother.

“Thank you, Lucifer,” he said. “Dean makes me very happy.”

“I know,” Lucifer replied. “He better treat you well, too, or he’ll have me to answer to.”

“Are we really at the threatening stage of our relationship already?” Dean whined, but he couldn’t repress the thrill that ran through him at the word ‘relationship’. God, he really was turning into a teenage girl.

Well, he did have a really hot boyfriend, so he supposed he did fit the criteria.

“I’m sure I shall receive threats from Bobby and Sam, Dean,” Cas said, helping him swing his legs off the bed. Dean glanced down at his pyjamas in dismay and Castiel added, “Bobby went home and brought some clothes for you, if you are interested.”

“Hell, yeah,” Dean said, grinning. “Seriously though, the mind reading thing is getting creepy.”

“You’re just easy to read, Dean,” Lucifer said, leaning over to check his ribs. “Can I have a look at how the burns are healing? They were particularly nasty.”

“Sure,” Dean said, shifting to standing. He glanced at Cas, adding, “Shall I meet you downstairs?”

Castiel hesitated, frowning at the idea of leaving Dean alone, but Lucifer said, “Perhaps you should simply wait outside? Then you can help Dean walk downstairs afterwards.”

“Of course,” Cas said, nodding. He squeezed Dean’s hand for a moment, then turned to go. Dean pulled him back and leant over, brushing a kiss on his cheek.

“I’m not going to break,” he told him quietly. “Have a little faith.”

“I do,” Castiel said earnestly. “I have complete faith in your strength, Dean.”

Dean pulled back, blushing, and Castiel left him alone with another warm smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So writing Dean and Cas talking about feelings is apparently really hard. I hope you forgive the brevity of this chapter due to the confession finally happening.  
> Forty thousand words in and they finally admit they are in love.  
> Tiny amount of Sam and Gabriel in this chapter too, for those who asked for it, but more is to come. And more plot. Sometime in the future. When I'm done coddling my babies.  
> I'm writing without a beta at the moment and I will be looking for someone who has the time and the inclination to put up with me.  
> Thank you all for still reading, despite the long wait. I cannot tell you how much you enjoying this means to me, or to any writer. Your comments and kudos are all that keeps me going when all I want to do is give up. So thank you.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my beta's back! And so am I! And this chapter is a little different. I hope you are okay with Michael's POV for a chapter - then I'm going to actually do some plot honest.  
> Lucifer is and always will be one of my favourite characters.

**_Interlude - Michael_ **

 

Betrayal was a bitter pill to swallow, but it was one Michael knew all too well.

He'd been the traitor and the betrayed before. He knew.

Lucifer's betrayed glare, blaming him for everything that went wrong... Michael stared down at his hands, seeing the phantom blood darken his skin as it had that night, so long ago, when his treachery had almost caused his brother's death.

_Why can’t you just be good?_

_I’m the good son._

God, why had he _said_ that? It was a lie – it had always been a lie. Michael wasn’t the good son – he was the one who pretended to be good. He was a faker, a liar, the false one. He knew that.

_Don’t you know I hate you?_

Michael picked up the glass of whiskey and stared sightlessly out of his window. The garden was beautiful – the house was perfect. He had his perfect family, with his children and wife and new baby on the way.

Of course, that he could barely touch his wife without thinking of a different set of hands and lips and mouth – well, that didn’t need mentioning, did it?

God, that night. What he would do to go back and change his words – but there was nothing he could do, was there? No way to change the past.

_He’s getting ready for a date with Rachel. White shirt, dark slacks – he knows he looks smart, all well dressed and proper. It ‘s their anniversary and Michael owes Rachel a nice night out. She’s a good friend to him, always putting up with his shit._

_He turns to the bathroom, stepping inside to shave, and sees Lucifer, lying on the floor. For the first couple of seconds, Michael doesn’t understand – he assumes his brother is doing this to piss him off. Then he sees the red liquid that surrounds the other boy, and thinks that Lucifer has spilled something. He’s not exactly graceful, really._

_Upon closer examination however, he finally sees where the liquid is coming from – two straight lines, one on each of Lucifer’s wrists._

Michael swallowed, back in the present, as he takes a long drink. It was easy to pull that horror to the forefront of his mind and allow it to engulf him. The guilt was never far from his thoughts, even all these years later.

He’d driven his brother – his twin, his best friend – to take his own life. _His_ hurtful words, _his_ cruelty, _his_ hatred and rejection – it had caused Lucifer to think that taking a razor to his veins would be the right course of action.

Of course, that wasn’t really the worst thing, was it?

 _He sat by Lucifer’s side all night. Their father had left to deal with something or other (probably the church – he wouldn’t want everyone to hear about Lucifer’s_ sin _after all) and Michael sits, silent and still, keeping a careful vigil for his brother._

_Lucifer would survive. They’d promised, after all. Lucifer would survive, the nurses said – the cuts weren’t too deep and he hadn’t lost enough blood to actually kill him._

_Michael knew that they were lucky._

_He clasps his hands together and focuses inwardly._ Dear Father _, he prays._ Please, I need your help. I know I have sinned against you, and I know that Lucifer has too, but we love you and repent our sins. We need your guidance, O Lord, and we need your help. Please save him. Please protect him. I can’t lose him.

_He’s snapped out of his thoughts by a stirring on the bed, eyes opening to see Lucifer staring back at him, confusion clear on his features. He chokes down a sob, leaning forwards, placing a hand on Lucifer’s shoulder._

_“You’re safe, Luce,” he murmurs. “You’re at the hospital. You’re going to be fine.”_

_The dazed look leaves his brothers eyes as Lucifer grasped the situation. For a second, there was a terrible pain on his brother’s face, before it shut down and Lucifer stared at him passively._

_“I’m sorry,” he rasps._

_Michael shakes his head fiercely. “You have nothing to apologise for. You’re going to get better and everything will be alright.”_

_“No,” Lucifer says, voice hoarse. “Michael. I’m sorry that I did it wrong. Couldn’t even do this for you.”_

Michael sat down at his desk once more and flipped through papers, not seeing the contents.

His brother had apologised for not killing himself.

His brother had thought Michael wanted him dead.

Even now, even when Lucifer and he were so estranged, so violently opposed – Michael didn’t know if he would survive his brother’s death. Michael knew it was wrong, to love his brother so, and it twisted him inside as he resisted it, but he had accepted the inevitable around the time his son was born – there was something wrong inside Michael, something so wrong that meant he could only love Lucifer.

He did love Rachel. He just wasn’t _in_ love with her. He found it darkly amusing sometimes, late at night when he allowed his thoughts to turn that way, that he loved his wife as a sister and his brother as a lover. It was wrong – but still funny – that it made Michael feel ill to touch her, while his body burned at the thought of Lucifer, still, even after all the years they had been separated.

After Lucifer had left, after his father had gone, when Michael had married Rachel and taken his father’s place, he had been angry. For a lot of years, he had felt so very betrayed by his brother, as if Lucifer should have stood by him and taken every cruelty he had shown him out of the loyalty of blood and love.

 _The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb_.

Michael should have known back then that, in reality, Lucifer had never betrayed him. Everything in Lucifer’s life had been given to and for Michael. All the pain, all the suffering that his brother had taken – he took to protect Michael. And Michael had repaid him by telling him he was sick and wrong and hated, by throwing him out on the streets. Even when Lucifer had offered him his life, Michael hadn’t realised what his brother would do for him.

He should have. His brothers and sisters – they’d been too young, for the most part, to understand, but Raphael had known. Of course he had.

_Michael sits outside Lucifer’s hospital room. He can’t stand to be inside with him, but that doesn’t mean that he can leave his vigil – he has to keep his brother safe._

_He doesn’t look up when a boy sits beside him. Raphael stays quiet too, not wanting to distract Michael (or, perhaps, enrage him, for even then his temper had been like his father’s)._

_Finally, Michael says, “He’s going to be fine.”_

_Raphael nods. “Did he say why…?”_

_Michael clenches his jaw, wanting to say but not being able too. Raphael understands, nodding once again._

_They sit in silence for a long time, watching the nurses come and go, before Raphael stands and looks down at his brother. The two had gotten steadily closer over the last year or so, however long it had been since Michael and Lucifer started to drift apart, and the boy says, “He’d do anything to protect you, Michael.”_

_Michael nods imperceptivity, already knowing that._

_“This wasn’t something selfish. Lucifer’s not like that. His problem’s always been that he’s loved too fiercely and too much.”_

_Michael drops his eyes, unable to meet his brother’s knowing gaze._

_“It’s like he burns himself up with it,” Raphael adds, glancing at the door. “What’s that saying? ‘My candle burns at both ends, it shall not last the night, but o my friends and o my foes-”_

_“’It makes such lovely light’,” Michael finishes, unable to keep the emotion entirely out of his voice._

_“That’s it,” Raphael agrees. “He’s like that, isn’t he? He burns so brightly. Is this a burn out?”_

_“No,” Michael snarls, and there it is, his protective instincts coming out again at last. “He’s_ fine _.”_

 _“Of course he is,” Raphael agrees again, quietly, turning his eyes back on to Michael. “But if he keeps burning himself up like this, trying to protect and give and_ love _, well…”_

_“I know,” Michael says. He leans back in his chair, staring at the wall. Raphael waits for a moment, then turns to go._

_“You know what he would say?” Michael offers, just as his brother was about to leave. “If he could hear us saying this?”_

_“What?” Raphael asks, turning back._

_“It’s better to burn out than to fade away.”_


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Panic Attack, etc. I say etc. because if you've read the rest of this story you should really be expecting some of this stuff.  
> Sorry for the hiatus. I've recently been spending a lot of time with mental health professionals myself. I'll try and have another chapter up this week.

For the first time since the bathroom, Dean was alone.

He wondered, vaguely, as he stared out of the window overlooking the garden, what he was supposed to do now.

 _Find the mole_ , Michael had told him. Yeah, like it was that simple.

When the fuck had his life become so complicated? To be fair, his life had never been exactly simple, but it used to make a hell of a lot more sense than it had since he came to this town. Now he was pretty much a member of the mafia. To add to that, he was on the other side to his father now, who was – Jesus, who even knew? John had disappeared again, and no one knew where he’d gone to. He certainly wasn’t working for Crowley anymore, which was something at least, but that only meant he was completely without protection at all.

Dean was on Michael’s side. There was no doubt about that anymore, unfortunately. Gone were the days where he could have happily sat out of the fight, if those days had even existed.

He held out hope that he could protect Sam, though.

Out in the garden, Sam and Gabriel sat beneath a tree, books in their laps as they studied side by side. Well, Dean thought, amused, it was hardly studying. The two boys spent more time talking to each other than looking at their books. Dean looked down on them quietly, sitting on the window seat in his room.

He had to keep Sam safe. If that meant working for Michael, well – he’d manage.

The door opened and a red head popped in.

“Hey, Anna,” Dean greeted.

She smiled at him. “Hey Dean. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, thanks,” he said as she came into the room. Dean liked Anna – she was beautiful and kind – but he was all too aware of the fact that she could be the spy pretty easily. So he watched her carefully, and briefly considered the idea of clinical paranoia.

(But it’s not paranoia if there’s actually someone out there trying to kill you, right?)

“Good,” she said, voice quiet as she joined him by the window. She looked out, spotting the pair under the tree, and smiled again. Dean watched her face, but there was none of the consternation that he expected from someone who thought two boys shouldn’t be as close as Gabe and Sam were sitting right then.

“They are good together, aren’t they?” she asked.

“Huh?” Dean asked, playing dumb.

She shook her head at him. “Don’t be stupid, Dean. I know you see it like I do.”

Dean shrugged and turned back to the pair, watching Gabe shove Sam’s shoulder affectionately as they laughed. They looked free down there, alone in a world of their own.

“He’s just a kid,” Dean muttered. “They’re both so young.”

“You’re still young, too,” Anna pointed out, leaning against the wall behind him.

“I don’t feel it anymore.”

“No,” Anna said slowly. “I don’t expect you do.” A small hand suddenly touched his shoulder and he went tense under the pressure. Anna sighed and withdrew the hand. “I won’t hurt you, Dean.”

“You’ll excuse me if I’m not all too sure about that,” Dean said, pointedly not turning to look at her. He couldn’t relax, though, no matter how much he tried.

“It’ll take a while,” Anna said, “But you’ll learn to trust again.”

“I know how to trust,” Dean objected.

“You trust Cas, right?” she asked and laughed when he ducked his head to stare more firmly at the boys. “Congratulations, I suppose. It’s a shame – he gets all the pretty ones.” Dean stilled, his muscles tensing even more, and his breath started to come faster, irregular. His heart was racing. The room seemed suddenly to be more in focus, the lights brighter and far more intrusive.

“Dean?” Anna asked, but her voice was too loud and too close to him. He flinched. She touched him again, a hand to his shoulder, and he pulled away from her violently, twisting out from under her hand and placing his back to the window. His hands were in fists, but he didn’t remember making them. “Dean, it’s okay.”

He shook his head, moving further away from her. She frowned and said, “Calm down, Dean.” She took a step closer.

He jumped up, staggering as he stood on his still weak ankles. “Stay back,” he ordered, and his voice didn’t sound at all like him. Anna moved to step forward again and he snapped, “Stay there!”

“Dean, I’m not going to hurt you,” she said, stopping. “I promise. Calm down and let me help you back to bed.”

“No!” Dean said, and he wondered why he was yelling. “Don’t touch me!”

There were footsteps outside and he moved back, clutching at the wall. “Dean-” Anna started, and the door burst open.

Lucifer was the first in, Balthazar a step behind him. Dean’s back hit the wall on the other side of the room and he shook his head, trying to clear it, but there was just _too much_. His heart was racing and he could hear it pounding desperately in his ears.

“Dean-” Lucifer said, but Dean was shaking his head. His face felt wet and he realised absently that he was crying.

“Please,” he whispered, and there it was – just a broken little boy, crying and begging for mercy. But mercy wasn’t going to come, was it? He wasn’t going to be saved.

Dean collapsed. He curled in on himself, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them, trembling fiercely, because he knew what was coming and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He was nothing.

 _Weak_.

Too stupid and too naïve to learn to protect himself – but even if he had learnt, he could never do it, could he? He was too weak and too broken to protect himself and far, far too ruined to ever be worth protecting. He was used and dirty and disgusting and even if he begged, no one would help him, because that was all that was left. He wasn’t worth anything.

“Dean, can you hear me?” Lucifer’s voice made its way through the haze and Dean shook even more violently, trembling and making little whimpering noises that he couldn’t seem to stop. “It’s okay, Dean. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Dean laughed at that. He couldn’t not. Of course they were going to hurt him. Of course they would. It wasn’t like there was a reason not to – all his life people had taken pleasure from hurting him. Why should these people be any different?

Because he wasn’t worth protecting. He wasn’t worth keeping safe and loved and all of that – he was nothing. He was broken. He was ruined. He was _worthless_.

“Dean, just breathe for me. You’re hyperventilating and if you don’t calm down, you’re going to pass out.”

Dean knew that his breath was coming in ragged pants. He knew his chest was tight and that he wasn’t getting enough air, but he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t control it. He was such a failure – he couldn’t even breathe right. That was one thing everyone should be able to do, right? Everyone could, because it was a biological imperative. He needed to breathe and so he _should_ be able to. But he was so fucked up that he couldn’t even breathe.

“You’re safe, Dean.”

He wasn’t. It was a lie. He wasn’t safe at all. He’d never be safe and he’d never been safe and this – this was no different. There was no safety, there were just moments where things didn’t hurt; and right now – everything hurt and everyone was going to hurt him. He wasn’t safe at all.

His cast-hand scratched at his arm and he sobbed silently, still trying to get enough air in to breathe. He had to escape but they were surrounding him – there was no way out.

“Cas is on the way, Dean,” Lucifer said. “He’ll be here in a minute. Hold on for me, okay?”

 _Cas_. Cas was coming. Cas would protect him. Cas would keep him safe, right? Because Cas loved him, for some god-forsaken reason.

But… But Dad was supposed to love him too, and he still hurt him. And his family members were supposed to protect him, but they didn’t; all that happened was that he was hurt and broken and ruined and why would anyone want to protect him? Why would anyone keep him safe? He was worthless. If Cas came, he would take one look at Dean and walk away. Because Dean wasn’t worthy of Cas. He was a mess.

“Dean,” and that was Castiel’s voice, carrying gently over the other voices in his head. They didn’t go quiet at Cas’ voice, but they stopped mattering so much. “I’m here, Dean.”

“Cas?” Dean asked, his whisper scratchy. He looked up, trying to find Cas’ face, but it was too bright and sharp and full, so he closed his eyes again. “Cas.”

“I’m right here, Dean.” He heard footsteps and a door closing. “We’re alone, now. Is it okay if I touch you?”

Dean shuddered, but nodded. “Yeah.”

“I’m walking across the room and sitting in front of you, Dean. Now, I’m going to touch your arm.” A warm, gentle hand was laid on his arm. Dean relaxed. “Good. Is that okay?”

Dean nodded into his knees.

“Okay, good.” Cas’ thumb stroked his arm. “Can you look up for me, Dean? I would like to see your eyes. If you can’t, that’s okay, too.”

Dean swallowed, but lifted his head. He let his eyes flutter open and the room came into focus. Still too bright, still too much, but Cas caught his eyes and he found an anchor.

“Good,” Cas said again. “You’re doing well, Dean.” His friend smiled at him gently. “Do you think you can move, yet, or do you want to stay here for a bit longer?”

“I can move,” Dean whispered. He coughed to clear his throat.

“Okay,” Cas said. “I’m going to lean forwards and help you up, okay? I’m only going to touch you as much as necessary.”

“Okay,” Dean said. Castiel leant forwards and unwrapped his arms from his legs, just before placing his hands under his arms to help him get to his feet.

“You’re doing great, Dean. You’re okay.”

Dean shuddered again and swayed, leaning into Cas’ body. The solid warmth wasn’t frightening and Cas didn’t pull him tightly against him, caging him in. He just stood there, supporting him.

“Dean, may I put my arms around you?”

Dean nodded into his shoulder; light arms were wrapped around him. The warmth felt safe.

“Do you think you can walk across the room to the bed with me, so we can sit down?”

Dean nodded again and Cas led him gently to the bed. They sat, but Dean didn’t want to let go of Cas, so the other boy laid them down, Dean curled over him.

“You’re safe, Dean,” Castiel whispered into his ear. “I’m sorry about Anna, but I won’t let you get hurt again. I’m going to protect you now. I won’t fail you again, ever. Just relax and breathe with me. You’re okay. You are safe. I promise, Dean.”

Dean let his breathing slow and paced it to Cas’. His head was on the other boy’s chest and he could hear his heart beating, a calm pulse that meant safety. “’M Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Cas whispered. “I’m sorry. I failed you.”

“Didn’t,” Dean muttered. “Came to get me.”

“I wasn’t fast enough. You got hurt.”

“Always do.” Dean sighed, nuzzling his head into Cas’ chest. “Nothing new.”

“I’m sorry that you think like that, Dean,” Castiel murmured. “But we’re going to change that as best we can, okay? I’m going to protect you now. I won’t let you get hurt again.” When Dean said nothing, Cas sighed and tightened his arms. “Do you think you can sleep?”

Dean nodded, his eyes shut, and Cas kissed the top of his head. “You’re safe with me, Dean. I promise.”

Dean slept.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at this. Two posts in one week.  
> I will actually get this done soon. The next chapter is half written and I finally know how many chapters there will be. 23, by the way.  
> Thank you as usual to Felicia, my wonderful beta, who can be found by the name thereichenbachqueen on here.

 Lucifer leant against the doorframe of Michael’s office, staring at the dark head bowed over his paperwork. The office, Lucifer mused, hadn’t changed a bit since his father sat there. The same crystal decanter sat on the sideboard, the same view out of the window, the same furniture and books. All that had changed was the colour on the head of hair that sat behind the desk; Michael’s brown hair had replaced their father’s grey. It was comforting, in a way, to think that Lucifer hadn’t missed out on at least that much in the last ten years.

Lucifer hoped, however, that his brother would be willing to let go of their father’s morals at some point. Somehow, he doubted it.

His stomach curled with dread at the thought of Michael ignoring him now; when it was about their relationship, he could cope, but when it came to the safety of their family…

“How is he?”

Lucifer shifted slightly, pulled out of his thoughts, and reigned in his wandering mind.

“Castiel is with him. He should be fine.” Lucifer sighed. “Anna was flirting with him. I don’t believe she meant any harm…”

“But harm was caused all the same.” Michael linked his fingers together and leant his chin on them, sighing heavily. He was silent for a long moment, his dark eyes lost in thought.

“Michael?” Lucifer prompted, voice quiet. His brother glanced up and then gestured to the chair across from him.

“Sit down, Lucifer, and close the door behind you.” Lucifer obeyed, Michael’s tone setting his curiosity aflame. The door closed quietly, not even a creak to give them away, and Lucifer lowered himself into the chair with an air of casualty. He wondered what Michael could have to say to him after their fight: would it be all business? Would Michael apologise? Would Michael even still think about it?

His brother met his eyes, searching his face. Lucifer wondered what he was looking for – and whether or not he found it. Was Lucifer still, after all this time, lacking?

Michael relented, leaning back into his chair, and said, “I find myself responsible for Dean’s pain. I trust in the Lord and know that he has a plan for him but still… It is hard to watch him suffer.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Michael.”

Lucifer replied instantly. Even after everything they’d been through, Lucifer’s first instinct would always be to help his brother. “Did you hold the blade that tortured him?”

“No,” Michael said. “But I didn’t take the blade away, either – not until it was too late.”

“For heaven’s sake, Michael,” Lucifer snapped. “Are you going to keep this pity party up for long or are you actually planning on doing something about it? Because if it’s the former, I’m out of here. However, if it’s the latter, I have some information for you.”

Michael glared at him, but asked grudgingly, “What information?”

“It’s about your little mole,” Lucifer told him, hands clasping together tightly. He needed to give the impression that none of this mattered to him – Michael _couldn’t_ know how much he cared – but the tension was unavoidable when his heart felt like it was about to give out.

Michael arched an eyebrow. “You know who it is?”

“Yes,” Lucifer said, and Michael straightened. He swallowed. “It’s Uriel.”

There was a moment of stillness, where neither dared to breathe or move in case it all came falling down around them. In the game Jenga, there’s a moment, near the end, where one player _has_ to move a piece and the only pieces left are those that seem integral. And the player moves it slowly, so slowly, nudging it and the tower wobbles and they freeze, waiting to see if it falls, before it steadies and they move again until it’s free. And then, as the piece comes free, they wait to see if the tower will crumble and they’ll be left with the ruins on their hands.

Michael moved and the tower remained steady.

“How do you know that?” His voice was low, unsteady. Lucifer hadn’t heard him like that – so close to breaking – since a hospital room a lifetime ago.

“Meg wasn’t the only double agent in Crowley’s hoard,” Lucifer told him, voice lowering to match his brother. “There’s another girl – I won’t tell you who in order to protect her – but she told me about Uriel. He’s been meeting with them for about eight months, revealing information about certain operations. The warehouse fire three months ago? Uriel’s information.”

Michael’s head shot up, eyes narrowing in concentration. “How long have you known?”

Lucifer hesitated for a second before hedging, “I’ve only known about Uriel for the last day.”

“And the mole?” Michael demanded. Nothing got past his brother, Lucifer acknowledged. “How long, Lucifer?”

“A couple of weeks,” he admitted, refusing to duck his head. He wasn’t ashamed of this – he _wasn’t_.

“And you didn’t tell me?” Michael snapped, shoving his chair out as he stood. “You let – you let Dean and Balthazar – shit, Lucifer! They could have died! And you could have stopped it-”

“I didn’t know for certain whom it was, Michael,” Lucifer snapped back, standing as well. “And it’s not like you would have believed me-!”

“Of course I would!”

Lucifer laughed derisively. “Don’t bullshit me, Michael. You and I both know what would have happened if I turned up at your door, let alone accused our brother of betraying us.”

“I’m not so unused to brothers betraying me-”

“Oh, get your head out of your ass, Michael!” Lucifer yelled. “I didn’t betray you! But even if I _did_ , you would never have trusted me on this – not before Dean. Not before Crowley. So don’t you _dare_ say I could have stopped this because I would have if I could!”

“You didn’t even try and contact me – or Castiel! I know he would have talked to you,” Michael snarled. “You think I don’t know he’s going behind my back? You think I don’t know he wants to replace me?”

Lucifer shot his brother a look of disbelief. “Michael, that’s paranoid even for _you_.”

Michael threw his hands in the air, his frustration clear. “He’s gathering his own ‘people’, he’s establishing his own protection, turning _gay-_ ”

“Oh, _there_ it is,” Lucifer said scathingly. “I was hoping we’d manage one whole conversation without your blatant homophobia, but I guess I was wrong.”

Michael clenched his jaw. “Fine. But he’s rejecting me with every action he takes, Lucifer. You think he’s not preparing to take over?”

“Of course not, you idiot,” Lucifer said, dropping back into his seat. Michael remained standing, too tense to relax. “Castiel doesn’t want to rule, or lead, or whatever it is that you do. He wants to protect his friends. All he ever wants to do is help people.”

“That’s what I want to do-”

“Bull shit-”

“Oh and you’re a paragon of virtue, are you, Lucifer? You’re telling me that if Crowley was here in front of you right now you wouldn’t gut him?”

Lucifer hesitated, frowning, and said, “No. You’re right – I would. But I do _try_ to stick to ‘First, do no harm’. And Castiel isn’t like either of us; we are far more hardened and blood thirsty than he is, and I hope that the Lord sees fit to keep him that way.” He sighed. “Michael – please, believe me, if I thought it would help telling you vague information any earlier I _would_ have. I thought – I thought we’d have more time.”

Michael finally sank back into his seat. “That’s always been our problem.”

Lucifer smiled bitterly, nodding his head. “What are you going to do?”

“Kill him,” Michael said, his voice steady. “I’m going to take him out back and put him down like the mangy dog he is.”

Lucifer swallowed. “And the others?”

“Will watch and see. I will have no more disobedience, Lucifer.”

“Michael…” Lucifer said. “Isn’t that a bit much? Gabriel is a child. Dean and Castiel have been through so much-”

“They need to see the consequences of actions, Lucifer.” Michael sighed. “I know it will be unpleasant. My heart is broken, Luce. Ripped to shreds, each piece taken by one of my siblings and pulled from my chest. I know nothing but betrayal anymore.”

“Now you’re just being melodramatic,” Lucifer teased, hiding the twinge in his heart at the words and the nickname – the nickname. He hadn’t heard Michael call him that thoughtlessly in such a long time. “When will you-?”

“There’s no time like the present,” Michael said, standing. He swung the door open and marched down the hall to the sitting room, where Balthazar and Anna were watching a film. “Fetch the others,” he ordered, “And bring them to the garden. We’re having a family meeting.”

Lucifer swallowed, steeling himself before walking upstairs to fetch the boys.

He hoped this was the right thing to do.

 

\--- --- ---

 

Dean sighed as he flipped a page. “I like Atticus Finch. He seems like a good guy.”

Cas smiled at him indulgently. “Yes. Atticus Finch is a great man. In many ways, I wish that I had his advice when I was younger – or perhaps that my brothers had it.”

“The thing about the gun?” Dean asked, leaning his head back against Cas’ shoulder. The amount of trust in the gesture was breath-taking.

“Yes,” Castiel said. “ _’Courage is not a man with a gun in his hand. It's knowing you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what_.’”

“ _You rarely win_ ,” Dean read, “ _But sometimes you do_.” Dean hesitated, then asked, “You think we’re going to win?”

“I have no doubts,” Castiel replied, protectiveness rearing its head inside him. “We will finish Crowley and you will be safe. Believe me, Dean.”

“I do, Cas,” Dean said, a little more tension seeping out of his frame. “We’re good.”

“Good,” Cas agreed, pressing a kiss to Dean’s head. _Oh Dean_ , Castiel thought. _I would move the world for you if you just asked. There is nothing I won’t do to protect you_.

He didn’t verbalise his thoughts because he knew Dean would call him a sap.

A knock sounded on the door and Dean stiffened. Castiel squeezed his hand gently, reminding him that he was there and would let no one hurt him, but his friend’s posture didn’t relax.

“Who is it?” Castiel called out, rubbing a thumb soothingly over Dean’s hand.

“Lucifer,” his brother replied. Castiel glanced at Dean in askance.

“Come in,” Dean said, sitting up. His voice was gruff and Castiel watched him, lines of worry creasing his forehead.

Lucifer opened the door, leaning in with a reassuring smile. “Just me. Michael wants everyone downstairs for a family meeting. Are you up to that?” There was a trace of desperation in his voice, as if he wanted Dean to say no.

Of course, Dean didn’t. “Sure,” the brave idiot said, and he tossed his legs off the bed. “Give us a minute and we’ll be down.”

Lucifer’s lips stretched oddly, distorting his face into something that more resembled a grimace than a smile. “Of course. I’ll see you in a moment.”

Castiel frowned as he reached for his shoes and jumper. Something was off with his brother: something was making him uncomfortable.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked him, jerking him from his thoughts.

“Of course,” Castiel replied. “Are you certain you are well enough?”

“Quit mothering me, Cas,” Dean complained, shoving his feet into his shoes. “I’m fine. I’m not about to break.”

“I know that,” Castiel said, insistent. “You are far stronger than that. However, you have been through an ordeal. I worry-”

“Like a mother hen,” Dean agreed, elbowing him with playful affection. “Come on. Wonder what your big brother wants now?”

Castiel frowned before he spoke.

 “Something was off with Lucifer. It seems serious.” Dean clenched his jaw almost imperceptibly, but Castiel was close enough to notice. “Do you know something?”

Dean hesitated, then said, “I’ll tell you after, okay?” Castiel nodded begrudgingly, before opening the door and leading the way downstairs.

They met Balthazar on the way to the garden, who smiled bitterly at Dean and said, “Here we go again, marching to the Piper’s tune.”

Dean chuckled, but the sound was forced. Castiel shifted closer to him.

Outside, the family was gathered in a circle by the tree, waiting on them. Raphael, Zachariah and Uriel stood with their backs to them, a space between Raphael and Zachariah waiting for Michael, who wasn’t there yet. Anna was waiting beside Rachel, who didn’t have her children with her, with a space for Balthazar next to her. Lucifer stood beside Gabriel and Sam, arms folded. He was affecting a cool, detached look, but Castiel knew him well enough to think that something was definitely troubling his brother.

They joined the circle, Dean standing next to Sam, who nearly spoke but fell silent at Gabriel’s touch. No one in the circle was speaking, in fact; there was a sombre sense of anticipation. Ordinarily, family meetings were not this serious and Castiel felt his stomach tighten in response.

The back door opened and Castiel’s eldest brother joined them. He was dressed immaculately, despite the fact that he was at home, and his black suit was matched with a light blue shirt and pocket square. He had no tie on, but still managed to look like he’d just walked out of a conference room.

Michael observed them for a minute in silence, and Castiel found himself straightening up as he shifted closer to Dean once more.

Something was terribly wrong.

Michael finally broke the silence. “Everyone here is a member of my family.” He let the statement hang in the air for a moment and Castiel caught Raphael glance uncertainly at Lucifer. Gabriel took Sam’s hand.

“To me, family means loyalty above all else.” Michael stepped into the circle until he was standing in the middle, and turned slowly, meeting everyone’s gaze. “It means protecting each other, fighting for each other and putting family above all else. It means never betraying your family.”

Castiel went cold. What was this about?

Michael turned until he was facing Dean again. “I was told by Dean that there was a traitor in this family. He told me that Alastair and Crowley knew more than they should be able to. He confirmed my suspicions that someone had been betraying us for a long time.

“Lucifer told me today who that traitor was.”

A tense silence hung in the air between them. Castiel glanced quickly around the assembled group, trying to gauge their responses, but Michael was speaking again before he could see anything.

“Uriel, are you going to try and deny it?”

Castiel’s brother shifted his stance casually, leaning back on his leg as he folded his arms. “Would it do any good if I did? You’ve already made your mind up to listen to Lucifer – you know, the one who abandoned us. If it’s anyone, it’s him.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Castiel snapped, ever defensive of his elder brother. “Lucifer didn’t know anything until after Dean and Balthazar were kidnapped.”

“Why would I betray my family?” Uriel asked, trying to pass it off as a joke. He smiled at Michael. “You are joking, here?”

“You have the most to gain from it,” Michael said slowly. “It makes sense. You’re one of the youngest brothers, but you have no interest of your own to pursue: you wish to go into politics, but you stand as heir behind Raphael and Zachariah and myself.” Michael stared at him and Castiel could see the heartbreak in his brother’s eyes. “Will you deny it, Uriel?”

Uriel laughed. He threw his head back and let out a bellow of laughter, his whole body shaking as the rest of them stared at him, shocked into silence. Why would he laugh? How could he _do_ this to them?

“We’re family, Uriel,” Anna said, voice trembling. “Tell him – tell him you didn’t! Tell him he’s wrong!”

“Anna,” Balthazar muttered, trying to reign her in, but she shook him off.

“Uriel!” Anna was crying now. “Brother – tell him! Tell him you wouldn’t!”

Uriel just laughed harder, clutching his belly, tears running down his face. Castiel wondered absently if they were tears of sorrow or joy.

“Anna,” Balthazar said again, pulling her back sharply, “That’s enough.” Rachel took her hand silently.

“I’ll take that as your admittance of guilt, then, shall I?” Michael asked, and his voice was like a diamond, sharp and cold and unbreakable.

Uriel wiped the tears from his face and grinned at his brother. “I could have had it all. I could have broken free of you and ruled.”

“All you had to do was make a deal with the devil,” Raphael said slowly, sorrow colouring his tone.

Uriel laughed, a short, sharp bark of disbelief. “You think you’re above them? You’re all demons, Raphael. I just had to choose the one that gave me the best deal.”

Michael stepped up to him, touching his face gently. “Will you repent?”

“I have nothing to repent for,” Uriel snapped.

Michael sighed and rubbed a thumb across his cheek, holding his brother there. “I remember when you were brought home, Uriel. You were such a happy, joyous child. I hope the Lord will forgive you your sins and grant you everlasting life in heaven, because I cannot forgive you.”

Uriel gasped out, choking, and tipped forwards slowly.

When he collapsed into Michael’s arms, the older man held him close, rocking him gently. “I know,” Michael murmured. “Rest, brother. Sleep.”

Uriel jerked in his arms, twisting to look at the others, and there was blood on his lips. His eyes met Castiel’s and only then did Cas realise what had happened – only as he watched the light drain out of his brother’s eyes did he realise that Michael had executed him for his crimes.

Castiel wobbled. It was only Dean’s strong hand under his arm that kept him upright in that moment, as Michael sighed and pressed a kiss to Uriel’s head, before letting him go. Uriel fell to the floor, collapsing on his side. His eyes were wide open, gaping, horrified.

Michael turned and his impeccable shirt was stained red.

 _Judge, jury and executioner,_ Castiel thought vaguely.

“Raphael, Zachariah,” Michael said, gesturing at the body. “Get rid of the body. Make sure everyone knows that he won’t be returning.” He glanced around the circle, meeting everyone’s gazes evenly. “I do not take betrayal lightly. Remember this.”

Dean squeezed Cas’ arm gently, and Castiel heard Anna’s shaking breaths as she tried to conquer her tears.

“On to the second item of business,” Michael said, and he spoke as if nothing had happened. He talked on, as if his brother’s dead body wasn’t lying on the floor next to him, his life blood pouring onto the ground and staining Michael’s hands and clothes. Castiel had to admire his poise. “I would like to officially welcome Lucifer back into the Milton family. I am glad to have you back, brother.”

Lucifer jerked, staring at Michael in shock. For a second, joy was clear in his eyes, but then his mask was back in place and he took on a look of cool cynicism.

“What if I don’t want to be part of the family?”

Balthazar hissed in a gasp, and he wasn’t the only one, but Michael just laughed. “You never could lie to me, Luce.”

Lucifer frowned at him, but it seemed mostly a token protest now. “And if I say no I’ll end up on the floor I take it?”

“Of course not,” Michael said easily. “But you will accept.” He offered his hand to his brother.

“Of course,” Lucifer agreed, stepping forwards. He clasped Michael’s forearm and they shook once, firmly. They stood above Uriel’s body, the blood on Michael’s hand darkening Lucifer’s, but the smile they exchanged shone brighter than the sun.

“Welcome home, Luce.”


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do have to apologise for the wait here. I am a terrible, terrible person, who had exams and a mental breakdown but that is no excuse, it is just an explanation. This is not beta'd so if you spot mistakes please let me know!

Somehow, the slamming of lockers and the babble of voices that filled the halls around him actually comforted Dean a little. Sure, he was on edge and jumped at every unexpected movement, but this – well, this was familiar. He knew how to deal with schools.

The fact that Castiel had only left his side when he had to helped as well.

At the moment, Castiel was still in class. Dean had Jo with him, guarding him – and no, she couldn’t convince him that she wasn’t guarding him when it was _so obvious_ – and he felt reasonably okay. Things were hard but he thought that he might actually – well, be okay.

“Look, you don’t have to be with me every second of the day, you know,” he told Jo when she glanced longingly after the back of a retreating gaggle of girls – Dean could honestly not remember who they were. She shook her head.

“I’m right where I want to be.” Her tone was insistent and she smiled widely at him.

 _Sure,_ Dean thought. _You couldn’t be happier to be stuck with guard duty for the psycho_.

“Hey,” she said, nudging him as they walked down the corridor. “It’s good to have you back, Dean. School hasn’t been the same.”

“What, since I was here for a week? I’m sure you all felt a _real_ hole,” Dean said.

Jo laughed and said, “What can I say? You filled a hole in our group.”

“We’re getting dangerously close to sappy here, Joanna Beth,” Dean told her sternly and she laughed, slapping his shoulder gently. She froze after, looking at him with a wariness that she couldn’t quite hide, but he managed to shrug it off and smile. “Oh, I get it, beat up on the invalid. That’s fair.”

She smiled again, her relief evident. “Well, I have to get as many hits in before you can hit back.”

“I see how your morals are,” he teased as they reached his locker. There was a janitor working on the locker next to his, unscrewing the hinges of the graffiti-d door. Dean wondered what the hell had happened there. “Non-existent. What happened to not hitting a man when he’s down?”

Jo laughed and conceded, saying, “Get your shit out of your locker, Dean. We’ve got lunch and class and all kinds of afternoon fun to be having.”

Dean rolled his eyes but swung the door open. History and Lit and he could see Cas again…

“You struggling there, Bob?” Jo asked the janitor casually, leaning against the locker on the other side.

“If it – were just a bit – looser-” Bob grunted and Dean froze.

_“She’s looser than you were, Dean-o-“_

And blood on the floor and blood in his eyes and two whirls of light one red one purple –

danger danger danger

Meg, no! He had to get to Meg, she was right there, she was right there, she would be fine if he could just reach her she’d killed _Azazel_ for fuck’s sake she was impossible to kill –

Burning cold pain, slicing down his arm and hot breath on his cheek and the hot press of a cock and –

“ _We’re only just beginning, Dean-o_.”

“Dean, hey, it’s okay-”

“What’s wrong with the kid?”

“He’s fine it’s just a – just a moment-”

“Jo? Dean? What’s happening-?”

“Ash, get Cas-”

The voices surrounded him and crowded him and he couldn’t _breathe_ he couldn’t get out he just needed to get out but he’s tied down and he can’t escape but he won’t break he won’t break he won’t break he won’t won’t won’t

“Dean?”

“Cas?” Dean opened his eyes and there he was, just by his elbow, not touching and not crowding – supporting. “What-?” He broke off, coughing.

“Dean,” Castiel murmured. “I’m here. I’m going to touch you on the arm, just my hand, is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered and let out a breath when Cas’ hand curled gently around his wrist.

“Do you want to leave?” Castiel offered. “We can go home immediately. I will take you to Bobby’s house or my own.”

“No,” Dean decided. “No, it’s okay. I’ll be okay – I just. Flashback, y’know?”

“I understand,” Castiel said solemnly. “Come on. We can find somewhere more private-” Only then did Dean realise that they weren’t alone and glanced away from his locker, taking in the curious press of faces that turned in their direction. He frowned, blinking, and searched for Sam, wondering if he’d seen him like that – God, what if he thought Dean was weak for being like that-?

Cold eyes and a wide smile and shit that couldn’t be –

He smiled, waved at Dean, and then spun on his heel and was gone.

“Dean?” Castiel asked worriedly. “What-?”

“Alastair,” Dean croaked. “He’s here. He was there – watching me – god he’s following me-”

Castiel looked around wildly, demanding, “Where?”

“He’s gone now,” Dean whispered. “He was there, just a second – I thought I saw him this morning but it – I thought it was my imagination and now – he was there, _he waved_ , Cas he’s never letting me go-”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Cas said quietly. “You’re safe now. He won’t get close to you again.”

“He’s already been close to me, Cas – he was here – he was watching me-”

“Dean,” Castiel interrupted, hesitation in his voice. “Are you – are you certain it wasn’t part of your flashback-?”

“You don’t believe me.” It his Dean like a car crash, forcing him back against his locker. He jerked his wrist out of Cas’ grip and stared at his friend in disbelief. “You don’t believe that he was here.”

“I – I don’t know, Dean, but I didn’t see him,” Castiel said, a frown on his face. “I don’t see how he could have gotten that close to you – not with everyone on the lookout now – and you have been under a lot of stress. Flashbacks can cause you to hallucinate-”

“It _wasn’t a hallucination_ ,” Dean spat, desperate to make Cas believe him. “He was _here_!”

“Okay, Dean,” Cas said, but it was obviously a lie and Dean’s stomach twisted. “Shall we leave?”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed quietly. “Can we go – can we go back to yours?” Alastair couldn’t go there. Even _he_ wasn’t that mad.

Right?

 

\--- --- ---

 

Balthazar was the only one at the Milton house when the two arrived, Dean white and shaking, and he didn’t ask. The only thing he said was, “Fancy a hot chocolate?”

Dean learnt that day that Balthazar was the _best_ at making hot chocolate. It was unreal. Creamy, rich, indulgent, not too sweet – Balthazar was the best.

“This is amazing,” he said when they were sitting in one of the parlours – not one Dean had frequented before. This one had a light blue and white colour scheme, with floaty gauze curtains and soft, comfy furniture.

Balthazar grinned. “Anna and I are closest in age,” he explained with a shrug, “And she would come to me with her – ah – ‘girl problems’. Believe me, as a teenage boy who had no interest in women in _any_ form, I learnt very quickly to make good hot chocolate and provide ice cream.”

Dean laughed, but Balthazar levelled him with a look. “As a gay man, you’ll often be approached by women as a good friend. Don’t take advantage of that, Dean.”

Huh, Dean thought. Look at that. Balthazar is _not_ a dick. “I wouldn’t.”

“Good,” Balthazar nodded.

“You know, I’m not actually gay,” Dean added.

Balthazar snorted. “You’re sleeping with my brother.”

“Balthazar,” Castiel objected, glaring at his brother, but Dean laughed.

“Doesn’t make me gay. I’m bisexual, Balthazar.”

“Potato, pot-ah-to,” Balthazar said, rolling his eyes.

Castiel sighed. “The erasure of bisexuality is a serious issue with modern culture. While there has been a huge soar in support for homosexual and lesbian relationships, people continue under the false illusion that just because a bisexual individual is in a relationship with a man, that changes their sexuality entirely.”

Dean blinked at Castiel, kind of in awe. For someone who’d been supressing their sexuality to the point of homophobia less than a month ago, that was kind of detailed. And passionate.

Castiel blushed, glancing down at his hands. “I _have_ done some research, you know.”

“Right,” Balthazar said. “My bad.”

There was a brief silence, which Castiel broke by standing and looking at Dean before speaking, saying, “I’ll just go and put our things upstairs, if that’s alright Dean? I’d like to get changed too.”

“Sure,” Dean agreed quickly. “I’ll be here.” He took a sip of his drink and Cas left the room.

Balthazar leant back in his chair, watching Dean thoughtfully. “You going to tell me what’s up or do I have to guess?”

“I had a flashback,” Dean said, purposefully misunderstanding Balthazar. The man sighed, rolling his eyes at Dean.

“You’re impossible. You know what I’m asking. What’s with the tension between you two?”

Dean swallowed and looked down at his empty mug. “I saw Alistair. In the hall today, and earlier, on the way to school. I think he’s following me. Cas… Castiel doesn’t believe me.”

Balthazar hummed thoughtfully, tilting his chin back to stare at the ceiling. “Interesting. Why doesn’t he believe you?”

“He thinks it was a hallucination brought on by the flashback.” Dean stared resolutely down at his hand, clutching the mug tightly.

“And what do you think?”

“It wasn’t. He was there. I know my own mind, Balthazar, and that was Alastair, right there in front of me, and Cas _doesn’t believe me_!” Dean knew he was yelling at the end, but he was too angry to care. Even after he’d gotten awayhe couldn’t escape that bastard.

Balthazar leant forwards as Dean jumped to his feet, pacing back and forth in agitation. “When have I ever made something up? Why can’t he trust me? Christ, do you all think I’m insane? I’ve got PTSD, I’m not _crazy_!”

“Calm down, Dean,” Balthazar said with a sigh. “I know you’re not crazy. But you have to admit that it seems odd that no one but you saw him and that he got so close to you with everyone on watch for him.”

“Alastair’s a psychopath,” Dean pointed out. “If he doesn’t want you guys to know he _won’t_.” He stared at Balthazar, who was looking at him compassionately. There was something in his gaze that turned Dean’s stomach.

“Shit,” Dean swore, sitting down with a thump. “You don’t believe me either.”

“Dean…”

“Fuck you, Balthazar.”

“You’re going through a lot-”

Dean snorted and looked away. Balthazar sighed, leaning back in his chair once more. The front door opened and Dean checked the time automatically.

“Yo, Sam!” he yelled. “In here!”

Sam’s bag hit the floor in the hall and he appeared in the doorway, looking flushed. “Dean, are you okay? Gabriel said you had a flash-”

“I’m fine, Sammy,” Dean interrupted, smiling at his little brother. He knew he was still tense and angry, but he could act fine for Sam. He always would.

Gabriel stepped into the room behind him and grinned when he caught sight of the mugs on the table. “Balthazar! You made hot chocolate-”

“No way, Gabe,” Balthazar said, but there was a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. “You’re too much of a pig already.”

“Please, please, please, please, _please_?” Gabriel said, bouncing up and down and dragging out his last plea. “I’ll love you forever…”

“Fine,” Balthazar conceded with a sigh. “But you owe me a chore off the list.” He stood up and led his brother into the kitchen.

“Dude, you’re injured. You don’t have any chores at the moment…” Gabriel’s voice petered off as he went out of earshot.

“You okay, Dean?” Sam asked, his uncertainty making him fidget. He looked restless today, and Dean couldn’t help but feel bad for causing his brother’s anxiety. “I mean, I know – flashbacks aren’t fun – but… I just…”

“Sam,” Dean said, smiling a little. He sat back down and Sam joined him. “I’m okay. Really.”

“You’re not lying?”

“Would I lie to you?”

“To make me feel better? Yeah,” Sam said sceptically. Dean smirked and conceded defeat. Sam sat opposite him, staring down at his hands as he twisted them together.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean said, shifting a little to get comfortable. His cast itched. “Are you okay? Is everything alright?”

Sam bit his lip and muttered, “Yeah.”

“Don’t lie to me, kiddo,” Dean said, watching his brother with apprehension. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Sam sighed and slumped back into his chair. Immediately, he then sat back up and clasped his hands tightly together, knuckles turning white, before jumping up and beginning to pace. Dean frowned.

“Sam?”

“It’s- It’s just- Argh!” Sam exploded, throwing his arms up. And just like that he sank back down into his chair, that restless energy dissipating as he fell back, replaced with a look of desolation.

Dean went cold. He straightened, watching his brother alertly for any hints as to what the problem was.

“I… The night we rescued you,” Sam started slowly. “Well. We saw Ruby outside. When we were making our getaway, you know? And. Well. She kinda… said some stuff. Which – I dunno if it’s true. But… it seemed like it might be. You know?”

“Sam,” Dean said tersely, “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s about Mum,” Sam whispered. “It’s… Dean, god, please tell me it’s not true.”

“What, Sam? What about Mum?”

Sam looked up at him, eyes wide and scared, and whispered, “That Michael ordered her death.”


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... It's been a year and a half. I'd say I'm sorry but - well, I sort of fell out of love with Supernatural. But now my beta, Felicia, is back, she's kicking my ass to make me finish this. It's gonna be one chapter shorter than my previous estimate - 22 chapters in total, including the epilogue, and I'm planning on finishing it over the winter holidays so.  
> Hope you enjoy.

Dean sat alone in the garden that evening while the sun set. He was beneath the tree that Michael’s office overlooked, leaning against its trunk so that the gnarled bark pressed into his back. The air was cool but not unpleasant; there were no clouds in the sky. Even as close as they were to town –and even with the light pollution – he could still make out the stars.

The house in front of him was lit up. Inside, the Miltons sat together, eating dinner. Sam had headed home to see Bobby and, although Dean didn’t want to be anywhere near Michael at this point in time, he couldn’t bring himself to leave Cas with things as they were.

It hurt that his friend didn’t believe him, more than he cared to admit. Dean knew a little something about pain – physical, at least, and that which John Winchester inflicted upon his sons – but this was something new. His chest felt hard and cold, constricted against breathing whenever he thought of Castiel’s doubt; this, he thought, is was what betrayal felt like.

 _Don’t be stupid,_ a little voice said to him. _He’ll believe you when it happens again. Cas loves you. He won’t ignore this_.

But he has so far, Dean thought back, two voices arguing inside his head. And Castiel, he adds to himself, only ever trusts his own judgement – not mine.

Dean shook his head to clear the thoughts away. It didn’t matter anyway. Alastair was still his problem, and his problem alone. That wasn’t going to change anytime soon – well, not if he couldn’t stop it.

“Dean?”

He looked up to see Anna standing in the doorway, bathed in light that set her hair aflame. She was smiling at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice hoarse. He coughed to clear the blockage and then smiled at her. “What’s up?”

“Family meeting,” she said, quirking her lips. “You up for it?”

Dean sighed. “Do I have a choice?” They both knew the answer to that as he levered himself upright. She held the door open for him and then gestured down the corridor, to the large parlour at the front of the house that everyone could fit inside. Michael sat beside his wife, whose face was pale and drawn. She still hadn’t quite recovered from Uriel’s death; Michael had gone to extensive lengths to avoid having her see death or violence in any form, despite the fact that he was a mafia member. Rachel had been slightly off ever since the incident.

Sam wasn’t there, but Gabriel sat in the corner, sandwiched between Balthazar and Lucifer. Zachariah stood to their left, while Raphael stood behind Michael. Castiel leant against the wall on the other side of the room and Dean hesitated for a moment before he went to join him. Anna moved over to the corner to perch on the arm of the sofa beside Balthazar.

“Good,” Michael said, glancing up. He made eye contact with everyone in the room, checking in, and when their eyes locked Dean couldn’t help the rage that swelled up inside him. How dare he? How dare the man who _murdered_ his mother look him in the eyes? What right did he have to sit in front of him?

“We need to discuss the plan of attack,” Michael said, continuing on while ignorant of Dean’s rage. “I was thinking that a head-on attack might be the best thing to do-”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean exploded, jumping away from the wall. He regretted it a moment later, but Castiel was there to steady him.

Michael turned back to him and raised an eyebrow. “Dean? Do you have something to add?”

Dean swore savagely and punched the wall – another thing he regretted moments later. Sam stood, making his way across the room to Dean’s side.

“Dean,” he said lowly, a warning in his tone. “You don’t-”

“Don’t what, Sam? Don’t _what_? You can’t tell me something like that and not expect me to react-”

“Dean,” Sam hissed, but it was too late. Dean couldn’t be stopped – and he didn’t want to be.

“Is it true?” he demanded, staring at Michael. Cas was a warm line of support at his back.

“What are you talking about?” Michael asked, staring back. He seemed honestly confused.

“Did you kill my mother?”

There was a beat of silence. Then:

“No?” Michael said, frowning.

Dean fell silent. That wasn’t the answer he expected – and Michael seemed honestly confused in his response.

“What?” Sam said. “No, you – you killed her!”

Lucifer sat there, blinking. The others shifted in confusion, although Balthazar seemed honestly amused by the conversation.

Michael turned his stare onto Sam. “I’m afraid you’re quite mistaken,” he said, drawing himself up with great dignity.

“But – but Ruby said-”

Lucifer started laughing. Dean couldn’t stand it – he didn’t understand. What was – was it true or not?

“No, Dean,” Michael said softly. “It’s not true.”

It was only then that Dean realised he’d been speaking aloud.

“I don’t understand,” Sam whispered. “Why would Ruby lie?”

Gabriel glared at the floor, so Castiel stepped in and explained. “Ruby is a spiteful child who was brought up by monsters, Sam. At that point in time she was a very scared young girl. She wanted to hurt you, so she lashed out. Lying is one way to do that. And who knows? Maybe her father used it as a way of making her believe that our family is made up of bad guys.”

“But…” Sam trailed off. Then, to Dean’s horror, he started to cry.

Dean moved on instinct, wrapping his arms around his little brother as tight as he could. Sam leant into him and turned his head, hiding his face in Dean’s neck to stifle the sobbing.

Dean looked over Sam’s shoulder and met Michael’s gaze. There was a little hurt in his eyes, but mostly the man just look sad.

Were they that pitiful? Dean considered the idea and then thought _yeah, probably_.

“Sometimes a fire is just a fire, Dean,” Michael murmured. Dean nodded slowly.

“Yes,” Lucifer muttered sardonically, “Imagine that. It’s almost like John wasted his life being a hitman for _nothing_.”

The truthful words hit Dean low in his stomach as he tightened his grip on Sam, rubbing his little brother’s shoulders gently. Shit. He couldn’t – how could he ever let his father know?

 _Well,_ a vicious voice in his head whispered _, you won't have to worry about that unless he comes back now, will you?_ He shook it off, refusing to think about that now.

“I’m sorry,” Sam muttered into Dean’s neck. It was muffled by skin, but Dean heard and, judging by his reaction, so had Michael. The older man nodded and relaxed a little, his posture softening just enough to make the lines of his suit a little more natural.

“It’s fine, Sam,” Michael offered. “Let’s – let’s put this behind us. I know what it feels like to lose a mother.”

Sam nodded and Dean smiled tightly at the other man.

“Shall we move on?” Raphael interjected and Dean felt a rush of gratitude for the man. It wasn’t there for long though.

“If anyone is interested in what _I_ have to say,” Lucifer offered wryly, “I have an idea.”

Grateful for the change in topic, Michael turned to his twin, arching an eyebrow. Lucifer smirked before speaking to the room.

“What’s Crowley best known for?”

“Being a dick?” Anna offered. Balthazar high-fived her.

“Kidnapping?” Zachariah pointed out and Castiel tensed.

“Grade-A torture?” Dean said, changing the subject before the tension became palpable.

Sam snorted, wiggling his way out of Dean’s embrace. He didn’t move far away though – he was still close enough to lean his side against Dean.

“Crappy fatherhood?” the boy hesitantly added.

Michael couldn’t hide his smile. Lucifer rolled his eyes and sighed.

“All that is true,” he admitted, “But I meant his penchant for _deals_.”

It took everyone a minute to catch up with him but, of course, Michael got there first. It was almost eerie how in sync they were sometimes.

“No,” Michael flat-out refused. “No way.”

“It might be the only way,” Lucifer pointed out reasonably.

“No way in Hell,” Michael snarled.

“Brother-”

“Don’t ‘ _brother’_ me,” he snapped, spinning away from him. “I can’t _believe_ you’d suggest something this _dumb_.”

Lucifer raised a hand, about to speak when Michael interrupted him.

“Oh yes, I forgot, it’s _you_.”

Lucifer smiled to himself.

Dean had to interject then. “Does someone want to catch up the rest of the class?”

“My _brother-_ ”

“Can speak for himself, Mikey,” Lucifer snapped. “I think the most sensible way of dealing with Crowley-”

“Most _idiotic.”_

“-would be to appeal to his sense of superiority and try to make a deal with him-”

“Which would get you _killed_.”

“-in a sort of, ‘let’s all give up this whole feud business and work out the town’s control’ way.”

“No _way_ ,” Michael, Raphael and Zachariah said at once.

Rachel touched her husband’s shoulder. “Michael…” He shrugged her off and turned to stride across the room until he was practically nose-to-nose with his twin. Lucifer, naturally, looked completely unflustered by his brother’s angry approach.

“It’s the only answer.”

“It’s a suicide run.”

“Well, we all know I’m not afraid of those, don’t we?” Lucifer smirked.

Michael looked like he’d been punched in the stomach. “The answer is no.” His pronouncement was final.

“Any other business?” he demanded.

Balthazar raised his hand lazily. “Dean thinks Alastair is following him.”

All eyes were suddenly on Dean, who shifted uncomfortably. He frowned, rubbing his unbroken hand across his forehead. “It’s – I saw him. At school.”

Michael stiffened, instantly alert, and said, “Where-?”

“In the hall,” Dean muttered.

Castiel sighed. “Dean-”

“Yeah, I _know_ you didn’t see it,” he snapped. “You made it pretty clear that you didn’t see him, Cas!”

Michael looked between them in confusion. “What-?”

“I saw him,” Dean insisted. “You were focused on me-”

“You were having a flashback, Dean!” Cas snapped. A second later, all the anger drained out of him and he sagged. “I’m sorry – it’s just. I know it’s hard, Dean, but – don’t make trouble were there isn’t any.”

“And if there is some?” Dean asked quietly.

“Then we’ll deal with it,” Cas promised. “I swear.”

Michael sighed. “So… Alastair _isn’t_ following Dean?”

“No,” Dean said slowly. “I guess… I must have imagined it.”

“Alright,” Michael muttered. He rubbed his hand across his forehead and sighed. “In that case, meeting adjourned.”

Without saying anything further, he turned on his heel and marched out of the room, letting the door swing shut behind him.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I said I'd get this done and I meant it! Almost there now. Two chapter of actual plot and an epilogue left. Thanks to Felicia, the best person on earth, for being my beautiful beta.

Alastair was definitely following Dean.

He _knew_ he was right, and if he got out of this alive he was _never_ going to let Cas forget it.

He loitered at the shop window, using the glass to peer anxiously over his shoulder. At this point, he no longer knew why he was trying to be inconspicuous – if Alastair actually was following him he’d already know that Dean had seen him – wouldn’t he? _What if he didn’t know? What if-?_

God. Dean needed to get a grip on himself.

 _Buck up, kid,_ John’s voice snapped at him. _Assess the situation_.

What did it say about him that he heard his father’s voice in situations like these? Probably nothing good.

He was standing on a semi-deserted street between the high school and Bobby’s house. He hadn’t driven the Impala in today – not with the cast on, but Lucifer had promised he could have it off as soon as next week; now he was regretting not getting a lift with Cas after school. Sam and Cas had stayed late for some school council meeting or other and Dean couldn’t be fucked dealing with that. Not after all the looks he’d been getting over the past few days from everyone who’d witnessed his little freak-out – and everyone else at that. Somehow he’d forgotten how fast the high school rumour mill could be.

So he’d walked home. And he’d seen Alastair twice at school but he – well, he’d thought that it was just stress. Like Cas and Balthazar had been saying. But –

Well.

The man had gotten out of the car two blocks back. Dean hadn’t noticed the car following him (and he’d damn himself for it later, he was sure) but he had noticed it when Alastair had stepped out, alone.

And now – damn.

Alastair was following him.

What would be better? Staying in public, where any confrontation would have witnesses? Or maybe it would be trying to get away from the crows, to limit collateral damage?

Dean knew if he didn’t make some kind of choice now, he wouldn’t get to.

He turned on his heel and started walking again, quick strides to eat up the remaining space between Dean and the previous corner. He’d be on a bigger street, closer to a main road if he could just get past –

Alastair stepped out in front of him and smiled.

 _Shit_.

Dean stepped back, glancing around as casually as he could. The street, already close to empty, was now entirely deserted; they stood just before the mouth of an alley.

Dean had never honestly thought (except maybe during the whole torture thing, he noted) that he was about to die – until the moment Alastair stepped in front of him.

“Hey, Dean-o,” Alastair said. “You miss me?”

His beard was longer than the last time Dean had seen him. A few more wrinkles and the faint line of a scar poking out of his hairline were new additions as well; it must have been a hard few weeks for Alastair if his appearance had changed that drastically. But then, Dean hadn’t been at his best the last time he’d seen the man after the car crash, and then the kidnapping and the torturing.

The last image of Alastair, his fingers through Meg’s body –well, that image still haunted him.

“Aren’t you going to say hi, Dean-o?” Alastair asked, still smiling his damned shark’s smile. “John didn’t raise you very well, did he?”

Dean pulled himself together enough to speak and offered a raised brow, his tone lighter than he’d thought possible – hell, he was almost sassy.

“John didn’t do much raising at all, to be honest.”

Alastair laughed.

“That’s what I like about you, Dean-o,” he said, stalking forward. “No matter how close you are to pissing your pants, you always have a sassy comeback.” His eyes raked down Dean’s body, leaving Dean with the sudden, desperate need to take a shower.

“Leave me alone, Alastair,” Dean tried to order, but it came out sounding like a plea.

Alastair cocked his head for a moment, pretending to consider, before he chuckled. The hair on the back of Dean’s neck prickled and he shifted, uneasy.

“I don’t think so, Dean-o,” he said, his voice a mocking lilt. “I think you’re going to come have a walk down this alleyway with me, aren’t you?”

“You’re fucking mental,” Dean snapped, immediately taking a step backwards. He couldn’t stop himself from retreating the closer Alastair got.

“No,” Alastair sighed. “Psychotic, maybe – but not crazy. And do you know why I know that?” He took another step closer and Dean locked his knees to stop the trembling from becoming more obvious. “Dean?”

“No,” Dean whispered.

“Because you have so many buttons to press,” Alastair sing-songed, “And I know just which ones to push.” He fished around in his pocket and pulled out his cell, fiddled around with it for a moment, and then held it out for Dean to look at.

It was a picture of Sam sitting with Cas. His floppy brown hair was falling in his eyes and he was cross-eyed, blowing at it to try and get it out of his face. Cas was laughing.

Dean saw red.

“Sure,” he managed to say through gritted teeth. “Let’s take a walk.”

Alastair smirked, teeth flashing. “I thought you might say that, Dean-o. After you,” he added with a grandiose gesture.

Dean spun tightly and marched down the alley. As he did so, he deliberately lowered his shoulders, tightening his core to carry his tension lower. The alley had the requisite trashbags and dumpsters – in fact, it was pretty much the stereotypical back alley. Sometimes Dean wondered when his life had become a shitty movie.

Focusing, he tracked Alastair’s footsteps as they echoed behind him in the small space. He took two deep breaths and turned around, carefully placing his back to the wall.

“Well?” he demanded.

Alastair’s smile was still firmly in place. He took a second to glance up and down Dean’s body again, and then the smile widened, his fingers curling and relaxing as he did so. He hummed thoughtfully.

Dean’s eye twitched.

“Well,” Alastair said softly. “I think it’s less a matter of taking my time and more of getting straight down to business this time, unfortunately. How long till someone misses you?”

“Half an hour,” Dean lied.

Alastair moved and Dean slammed against the wall, head hitting with a painful thud as Alastair’s putrid breath filled his nose.

“Don’t lie to me, Dean-o,” he murmured against Dean’s ear. His beard scratched against Dean’s cheek. He pressed closer, his weight suffocating Dean, shifting so his knee forced its way between Dean’s legs.

_Shit._

“You know how I hate it when you lie to me,” Alastair continued, either ignoring Dean’s fear or enjoying it. The latter was most likely. “Dean?”

Dean gulped.

“Now, I’m going to give you one last chance,” Alastair offered, his lips trailing down Dean’s jaw. “When will you be missed?”

“A-a couple of hours, probably,” Dean whispered, hating himself for stuttering.

Alastair released him in a rush, stepping back and smoothing his barely-ruffled clothes down. Dean’s knees sagged as he leant back against the wall.

“Good boy,” his tormenter said, offering him another smile. “Now that’s out of the way, why don’t you get your trousers down?”

“Fuck off,” Dean responded on instinct, pushing himself upright. He felt that familiar anger rush back to him – he wasn’t going to be Alastair’s victim any more.

“I wasn’t really asking, Dean,” Alastair reminded him, pulling a long knife out of his back pocket. It glinted in the low light, and Dean could tell just by looking at it that it was insanely sharp. “I expect you to follow orders, boy.”

Dean hesitated; the chances of him getting the knife off of Alastair were actually pretty good. For all the other man was practised at using the tool to cause pain, he wasn’t holding it like he was expecting a fight. Dean, however, had been in enough knife fights in back alleys and crappy inner-city high schools to know how to disarm an opponent, even without his father’s harsh training. However…

What were the chances that Alastair only had one weapon? And was, in fact, alone, without back up? And… could Dean actually hurt him, even if he got the knife?

“Now, Dean,” Alastair murmured, levelling the knife at him in a loose grip. He smirked at him, completely confident in himself. “Or shall I make a call about your brother?”

Dean moved.

Both hands went up, the cast one slamming down hard on Alastair’s wrist, disrupting his grip, and the other caught the weapon in mid-air, hilt comfortably familiar in his hand. He slid away from Alastair, taking one step sideways until his back was to the mouth of the alley and Alastair was blocked in.

The man raised his hands in mock surrender. “Now, Dean,” he soothed, “Why don’t you put that down? Before someone gets hurt.” His confidence was hardly shaken – he had an amused twist to his lips, as if Dean was just some joke to him.

“I want you to leave me alone,” Dean said softly, staring across the alley at him. “I want us both to walk away from this and to never meet again.”

“Dean, you know that’s not going to happen,” Alastair responded, still in that horrible soothing tone. He took a step forward and Dean tensed, bringing the knife up to point in Alastair’s direction.

“Dean,” Alastair repeated. “Put the knife down.”

Dean honestly considered it.

And then Alastair moved towards him and Dean reacted on instinct.

Before Dean had even registered what was happening, Alastair collapsed into his arms, knocking him a step backwards. The man blinked up at Dean in surprise, mouth slightly open, and asked, “What?”

He took a deep rattling breath and coughed, sagging further into Dean. His weight made Dean stagger backwards and they careened into the wall for support. A trickle of blood wet his lips and he stared at Dean.

“Dean…” he whispered and then –

Then he went still.

Dean stood there, holding him up, and blinked down at him. What was he doing? Wasn’t he going to get up?

He leant him backwards, draping him against the wall, and stared at the wound in the man’s chest, angled up through the ribcage. Should he take the knife out? So he was armed when Alastair got up?

Some part of him rebelled when he tried to reach for the knife and he looked down at his uncooperative hands in confusion.

They were red.

Why were they red?

There was red on his cast as well. There shouldn’t have been. It was wrong.

Wrong.

 _Shit_.

His back hit the wall before he sank down opposite Alastair’s body, breath ragged in his ears.

_Shit._

He’d…

He’d killed Alastair.

 _Shit_.

He shot forward, fumbling at the man’s neck for a pulse. He stayed there, hovering anxiously, and there was nothing. He couldn’t – there wasn’t – he didn’t know what to do.

His cell was in his hand a second later and some absent part of him noticed how the blood had smudged on the screen. The rest of him was focused on dialling the first number that he thought of.

_Ring. Ring ring. Ring ring._

C’mon. Please.

_Ring ring._

“Dean? I’m still in the meeting-”

“Cas,” he whispered, cutting the other boy off. “Cas – please – I-”

“Dean?” Cas’s voice was suddenly more urgent, louder, and in the background there were a couple of raised voices, then a door cutting them off. “Are you having a panic attack?”

“No – Alastair-”

Cas sighed sadly. “Did you see him again, Dean?”

“He’s dead.” Dean doesn’t know where the sudden composure comes from but he manages to speak normally. “I’m – he’s dead, Cas.”

Cas was silent for a second. Then: “What?”

It was one of the rare times Dean had managed to catch Castiel off guard – and this was one time he wouldn’t treasure.

“I killed him,” Dean whispered. “I – I killed him, Cas.”

“Where are you?” If he’d thought Cas’s voice had been urgent before, he found himself being proved wrong at the moment. “Dean, I need you to tell me where you are.”

Dean struggled to think. “I’m – it’s.” He stopped and took a deep breath, holding it for a second to clear his head. “We’re in an alley off of 4th and Ash. That – that dead end street. I need help, Cas.”

“I’m on my way,” Castiel promised. “I need to hang the phone up now, Dean, because I need to phone Balthazar. Are you going to be okay if I do that?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, blinking. “What happens if someone else gets here first?”

“They won’t,” Castiel assured him. “Not if – did Alastair clear the area first?”

“Uh,” Dean said, shaking his head. “What?”

“Was there anyone around when you – when you had first contact with him?”

“No,” he murmured, thinking back. “Everyone… disappeared.”

“That’s good,” Cas said. “I’m on my way. I’ll be there in five minutes. Okay, Dean?”

“Okay,” Dean said.

“I love you,” Cas reminded him and then the phone went dead.

Dean stared at Alastair’s blank eyes and did what he did best. He waited.

 

\--- --- ---

 

The mirror had been covered.

It was the first thing Dean was really aware of again, after Alastair’s eyes. Oh, there were vague impressions of the events of the last hour or so – Cas’ car arriving, it’s brakes screeching as it stopped beside the alleyway. Cas’ hands on Dean’s arms, brief comfort. Balthazar staring down at Dean with sad eyes. Anna’s red hair as she zipped up a body bag with more ease than most medical professionals.

Michael standing in the doorway of his home, his lips thin, with Lucifer at his shoulder, a hand on his twin’s arm for comfort.

And now he was in the bathroom, staring at a covered mirror. He was irrationally glad someone had thought to cover it; he didn’t want to know what he looked like at that moment in time.

He stripped out of his clothes and didn’t bother to cover his cast in a bag before he stepped into the shower. It was ruined anyway. The water burned as it hit his shoulders, freezing cold, but he couldn’t find it within himself to care. He stood there patiently, waiting as the water ran from red to pink to clear.

He’d killed Alastair. He didn’t think he’d ever be clean again.

It was funny – he mused as he picked up the soap to start scrubbing at his skin –he’d walked away from this encounter with Alastair without a bruise; somehow though, he almost felt worse than the last time.

He glanced down at the scar that read ‘Alastair’ on his arm and laughed somewhat hysterically. He was really never going to get away from that man, was he?

“Dean?” Cas’ voice.

“Yeah?” he called back, voice rough. He cleared his throat, though he doubted it would help.

“Are you almost done?”

He stared at the wall as he called back, “Yeah. One minute.”

Simple steps. Turn the water off. Step out of the shower. Towel himself dry. Put on the clean sweats and t-shirt left for him.

Stare at his bare feet and wish for socks.

Open the door.

He took a deep breath and stepped out of the bathroom, trying to smile for Cas. He had a feeling it didn’t have the desired effect, seeing as Cas grimaced in response.

“I…” Dean hesitated, then tried again. “I didn’t know what to do with the clothes.”

“I’ve got it,” Anna said softly, pressing her hand to Cas’s shoulder as she stepped inside of the bathroom: a brief moment of solidarity.

It left Dean and Cas standing in the hallway, staring at each other.

Neither spoke for a moment. Then:

“What do you need, Dean?” Cas’s voice was softer than Dean had ever heard it.

It didn’t change Dean’s answer.

“I don’t know.”

Cas nodded, taking that at face value, and said, “May I touch you?”

That sounded pretty good right now, so Dean nodded, and Cas stepped forward, carefully taking hold of Dean’s good hand in his. When Dean only leant into the touch, Cas tugged on him – still gently, not wanting to catch Dean off guard – and pulled Dean fully into his arms. Dean let himself fall, curling up into the smaller man’s embrace, and buried his face in Castiel’s neck.

“Dean,” he murmured, breath rustling through Dean’s hair. “I’m sorry.”

Dean let himself be held.

 


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welllll...  
> This one is pretty much the last chapter of plot. There will be one more chapter and then an epilogue. I've actually started writing the next chapter so it shouldn't be much longer. Thanks for sticking with this story? If you did? I'm impressed by your fortitude?  
> There isn't much Dean/Cas in this and there is no mention of Alastair and what happened - but don't worry, I haven't forgotten! It just wasn't important in this chapter.  
> As usual, all the love to Felicia, my beta, without whom this would literally not have been updated since 2013.  
> Happy New Year!

Michael found Lucifer in his office. The blonde man was lying decadently across the chaise lounge, one leg up on the back of it and the other foot planted on the floor. He didn’t bother looking up as Michael came in; instead, he flicked through the book in his hands.

Michael sighed when he caught sight of the cover.

“So, when exactly do you kill me again?” Lucifer asked, still purposefully not looking up. “Oh, I’m sorry – not kill. Vanquish?”

Michael shook his head, but he couldn’t quite keep the smile from tugging at his lips. Lucifer always did manage to push his buttons.

“I prefer the term ‘conquer’,” Michael offered, sitting at his desk. He picked up his tablet and clicked onto his email.

“Oooh,” Lucifer let out a squeal of delight. Michael rolled his eyes to the heavens, asking for perseverance. “Did you know that you’re a dragon slayer, lover boy?”

Michael grimaced. “Lucifer…”

“Yes, yes, I’ll be quiet. But really – Revelations claims I’m a dragon. Can you believe it?”

“I have actually read that part, yes,” Michael said.

“And you never told me I was a dragon?” Lucifer asked, eyes wide and mock-offended.

“I didn’t want to stroke your ego more than usual.”

“You were a tad busy stroking other things, weren’t you?”

Michael choked on his own spit. Lucifer, ever gleeful of getting a reaction out of Michael, cackled.

“I’m going to take the high road there and not make a choking joke,” Lucifer added brightly.

“Lord, Luce,” Michael muttered. “I forgot about your filthy mind.”

“I can’t believe I’m so easily forgettable,” Lucifer said. It seemed like he was going for light-hearted but he missed the mark.

“No,” Michael said softly. Lucifer glanced up at him and, for a moment, his eyes were wide and vulnerable. “You were never forgettable, Luce.”

Lucifer smirked, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You better remember it, babe.”

“Always,” Michael agreed.

 

\--- --- ---

 

Dean laid his head in Cas’ lap, listening to his boyfriend’s voice rise and fall as he read aloud from their history text. Sam, sitting on the couch opposite, was trying to engage Gabe in a chess match. He was also failing dramatically, as Gabriel had absolutely no interest in the game and was far more interested in slowly inching into Sam’s lap.

Dean, who was supposed to be studying, admired Gabe’s ability to distract Sam. He wished he had the same with Cas.

Castiel, of course, took that moment to tap Dean’s shoulder.

“Yes…?” Dean asked, dragging out the ‘s’ to make the word into a hiss. He rolled over to look up at the other boy’s face.

Castiel looked down at him, smiling with fond amusement. “Dean, the point of this endeavour is for you to actually learn something.”

“I’m learning lots,” Dean said. He smiled innocently. “I’m just…”

“Not learning history,” Castiel supplied.

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Dean agreed, leaning up for a kiss. Castiel indulged him for a short moment and then pulled back, picking up the textbook again.

“Now, let’s talk about bathtub gin.”

Thankfully for Dean’s sanity, Michael chose that moment to enter the room. Dean sat up quickly – not like he was trying to hide his relationship with Cas (although he was still a little leery), but like he was trying to be respectful. Which was totally what he was trying to do. Totally.

The older man was frowning absently, glancing around the room. “Has anyone seen Lucifer?” was his opening gambit.

“No,” Castiel replied. The others shook their head in agreement.

Michael left without another word.

After a beat of silence, Dean asked, “Did anyone else find that weird?”

“Mm,” Cas agreed absently.

Gabe shrugged. “Michael’s not exactly one for niceties when he’s busy. Don’t let it bother you.”

Still, ten minutes later when Michael came back into the room, Dean was proven right.

“I can’t find Lucifer,” he said. Beside Dean, Castiel went stiff. “Did he say he was leaving?”

“I haven’t seen him yet today,” Gabe said, and Sam nodded in support. Dean glanced at Cas – his boyfriend was frowning worriedly at his older brother.

“He wouldn’t have left without letting someone know, right?” Dean asked uncertainly.

“God damn it,” Michael exploded, slamming his fist on the door. “The fucking _moron_.”

Dean was on his feet before he could figure out what was going on, just knowing that something wasn’t right.

“Michael,” Castiel started, but fell silent at his brother’s look. Behind his brother, Balthazar’s face appeared, glancing worriedly at the occupants of the room.

“Of course – he fucking. He went, didn’t he?”

“What’s going on?” Balthazar asked, shouldering into the room. “What-?”

“Lucifer’s gone,” Castiel supplied. His eyes never wandered from Michael’s tense frame and Dean was starting to get a _very_ bad feeling about this. “Michael-?”

“I specifically told him ‘no’,” Michael seethed. “I _said-_ ”

“Yes,” Balthazar drawled, “And Lucifer’s never done the opposite of what you said just to spite you before. I mean, he’s never _gone out of his way_ to oppose you or anything.”

Michael stopped for a tense second, holding himself so still Dean wondered if he’d even heard Balthazar speak. Then:

“Fuck. Stay here.” Michael turned on his heel and slammed out of the room. A moment later, they heard the front door.

The five of them were left staring at his trail, a heavy silence sitting on their shoulders. Dean’s stomach twisted anxiously.

“Well then,” Balthazar said, because of course it was Balthazar who spoke first, “Who fancies a cup of coffee? I reckon tonight’s going to be a long one.”

 

\--- --- ---

 

“When I suggested a deal, this wasn’t _exactly_ what I had in mind,” Lucifer said – well, more like _panted_ , through his blood-stained teeth, all while he struggled not to scream at the brand pressing against his skin.

But hey, wasn’t his pride worth hiding that particular distinction?

Crowley was the one torturing him seeing as his favourite employee – the one employed for this purpose – was currently cold at the bottom of the river. He had even taken his suit jacket off and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

That’s how Lucifer _knew_ it was serious business – and for hours, Lucifer’s hypothesis had been proven correct.

“I mean,” the blonde continued, having swallowed down the taste of copper, “I thought we could come to some amicable agreement. After all, we’ve all lost people in this war.”

There was a moment’s pause before the electric shocks – having been introduced hours ago – returned to Lucifer’s body, the man’s face contorting as his nerves caught fire and his breath came only in short, agonized gasps.

Perhaps, Lucifer thought, he should learn how to hold his tongue.

_Never one of my strong points, that._

“You’ve killed far more people than I have, Lucifer,” Crowley replied, breaking into Lucifer’s thoughts while he wandered back over to the surgical table, having abandoned it on the other side of the room. “I dare say that my sins are barely comparable to yours.”

Lucifer laughed, unable to stop himself before he was speaking again. “And what sins are those, cousin?”

“Murder,” Crowley said, punctuating each word with new, unwelcomed bursts of pain. “Abandonment. Betrayal.”

“Don’t forget the incest,” Lucifer supplied, staring at the ceiling dazedly even as Crowley continued. Every limb was on fire – his toenails now decorated the floor and he wondered if Crowley would be so kind as to pick them up. He wouldn’t want anyone getting a hold of his DNA. People might clone him and then… well that’s practically a child, wasn’t it? He didn’t need to be responsible for a child.

Michael was responsible for two and a half. When the third entered this world, Lucifer hoped it would be safe.

He somehow doubted it, though.

“Suddenly so much about you and Mikey makes sense,” Crowley said, his caustic voice intruding into Lucifer’s mind-haze. He didn’t appreciate it, having cherished the few moments escape.

“He wouldn’t like me to have told you,” Lucifer admitted, rolling his head to the side to stare at Crowley through bruised eyelids. This was all getting to be a bit much now; he didn’t like being in this much pain – he was feeling tired.

“I think there are a lot of things Michael wouldn’t want you to tell me,” Crowley agreed, wandering back over. “Any you’d like to share?”

“Hmm,” Lucifer said, pretending to think it over, even as his heartrate continued to rise. “Well, probably. He said it in secret you know, so…”

“It’s just you and me here, Lucifer,” Crowley promised, a nasty smile spreading over his face. “Your secrets are safe.”

“Okay,” Lucifer muttered. “He said your face –” He stopped, head tilting to the side for a moment as he sucked in as much air as possible before going on, “was always shiny and he hated having to sit across from you… because it reflected the light into his eyes.”

The resulting pain was unsurprising for Lucifer. He rolled his head to the other side and stared down at the knife protruding from his shoulder and smiled.

“You are so very, very easy,” Lucifer told Crowley, all joking pushed away. “This is why you’ll lose you know.”

(Lucifer didn’t know, of course, that his own lips were blue and his blood pressure was plummeting.)

“I don’t think you’re in a position to tell me I’ll lose,” Crowley spat, stamping back over to his tray. “It seems to me you’ve already lost.”

“Nah,” Lucifer muttered, staring back up at the ceiling. As a doctor, he could tell the blood loss was starting to get to him; his body was shutting down. “It doesn’t matter that I won’t survive. My life was never strategically important in this game.”

“Michael doesn’t care about anyone as much as he cares about you,” Crowley pointed out, and if Lucifer had his hands free he would have waved one absently, acknowledging the point and waving it away in the same gesture.

“Mm, but my death will make everything so much clearer for him,” Lucifer explained. “In fact, I daresay that the whole ‘war’ will be over within days, if not hours, of when he notices I’m missing. So really, you’ve just played into his hands by doing this.” He rolled his head to watch Crowley. “You’ve effectively ensured your own demise.”

Crowley snorted as he stepped back to Lucifer’s side. Bending over him, he smiled down at Lucifer, his lips at the blonde’s jaw. “Well,” he said, smirking as he reached for his knife again, watching Lucifer flinch, “At least I can kill you first.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Michael said. Lucifer lifted his head and blinked in the direction of the door. Michael, in all his black-suited glory, stood in the doorway, a gun in his hand pointed unerringly at Crowley’s head. “Step away or I’ll shoot.”

“Now, Michael,” Crowley said, lifting his hands in a gesture of peace. “You don’t want to do that.”

“Don’t I?” Michael asked, one eyebrow arched. He gestured sharply with his chin and Crowley obeyed, stepping back as Lucifer let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

“Luce – you okay?” Michael didn’t take his eyes off of Crowley. Lucifer let his head flop back down onto the table tiredly, shutting his eyes to ignore the blurry shapes.

“Present and correct – well. Mostly. My toenails are on the floor, I think.” Lucifer sighed as he let himself relax. It would be okay now, even if he didn’t make it.

The gunshot that echoed across the room made him jump.

He tried to sit up, searching frantically for Michael, but it was Crowley’s body that hit the floor. Lucifer stared at him as the red started to spread across the white shirt.

Lucifer glanced back at his brother, his throat hoarse and coated in blood as he spoke. “Mike…”

Michael’s face was stone. He cleared the chamber, clicked the safety on and holstered the gun, striding over to free Lucifer’s wrist. Once one was free, he took a moment to cup Lucifer’s face.

“Stay awake,” Michael demanded, and Lucifer laughed.

It was all he could do to keep from collapsing into his brother’s strong arms.

“Always bossing – bossing me ‘round,” he slurred.

He had no desire to be on the cover of a shitty romance novel, so instead of melting into Michael’s embrace, he started reaching to undo his other wrist as Michael went to work on his ankles. “They’ll have heard that shot,” he added casually.

“I came to an arrangement with Bela,” Michael replied, glancing at his watch briefly. “We need to move, now. I don’t have long to treat your wounds before we need to be at the airport. And again –” Michael went on, shaking Lucifer a bit as his the blonde felt his eyelids close, “Stay awake, Luce.”

“Airport?” Lucifer asked, his insides twisting rapidly. He fought to open his eyes then, this new information having brought about a rush of panic. There was a cool trickle down his spine as he moved – not a real one, like the hot blood dripping down his shoulder, but one that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. “Michael-?”

“You can’t stay here,” Michael said, helping him stand and taking a step back to take in the damage. Lucifer could see, through the haze of his darkening vision, that his brother winced.

 “I have your passport in the car – I’ve been planning this for a few days. I booked the tickets on the way here.” Michael started to help Lucifer walk but the other man stopped him, refusing to move.

“Michael, I won’t leave you,” Lucifer said, his voice barely a whisper. “Not again.”

That gave Michael pause. He blinked at his brother and frowned. “What?”

“I won’t – not even if you’re sending me to Italy. I won’t leave you.” Lucifer was trembling, he realised vaguely, but he couldn’t stand it. Not again. Even if Michael wanted him gone, he wouldn’t –

“Two tickets,” Michael said and Lucifer blinked. “There are two tickets and my passport is there too and we are going. I have fake papers – we’re not brothers in them – we can get married.”

“What?”

Lucifer couldn’t breathe. His ears were ringing and he leant heavily on his brother as his energy started to flag.

Michael smiled. “Luce,” he murmured, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m going to take care of you. I’m sorry I failed before.”

“We could – we could be together?”

“Yes,” Michael said certainly. “Yes we can. Now can we go?”

Lucifer blinked for a moment longer before his face split in a wide smile, his eyes having closed again against Michael’s shoulder. “Yes. Yes, I think – I think we’d best.”

Lucifer wanted to continue, wanted to say something else but his limbs were lead, lips stuck together after he sighed.

He was content.

Happy.

“Lucifer – Luce – _please.”_

The last thing Lucifer heard was Michael telling him to open his eyes.

\--- --- ---

 

Dean wasn’t really well enough to pace, but that didn’t stop him. He couldn’t sit still. The whole family – aside from the children, who were already asleep upstairs – had gathered in the sitting room. Dean was the only one pacing. The whole Milton family sat still, staring into space. It was eerie.

Raphael’s phone rang.

He stood, pulling it out of his pocket and answering it with a terse, “Yes?”

Whatever he heard on the other end sent him marching out of the room. The door swung shut behind him and everyone went back to staring into space.

“What happens next?” Sam asked, breaking the silence with a tentative voice. The others turned to fix their eyes on him.

“How do you mean, Sam?” Castiel asked, ever patient with the young boy.

“Well,” Sam hesitated. “Uh, I mean. If Michael – well. What if he doesn’t come back?”

The silence that reigned thereafter was altogether more terrifying than the first. Dean stopped pacing, staring at the others with anxious eyes. He hadn’t thought – after all, it didn’t bear thinking about. He’d considered that Lucifer was already dead. Of course he had – he’d been in Crowley’s compound. He was aware of what went on there. But to think that Michael might not return…

Then there was no future. They’d lose and, if they lost, what would happen to them? Would Crowley kill them all?

It was Rachel who responded. “We go on,” she stated, her voice cool and collected. “We protect our families and this town. We ensure that our children can grow up safe.”

“We stick together,” Anna offered, smiling at her sister-in-law.

“We end the war,” Castiel said, a small smile on his lips.

“We kill Crowley,” Balthazar supplied dryly as Raphael entered the room. “Or he’ll kill us.”

“That isn’t going to be a problem any longer,” Raphael said. He was pocketing his phone and staring pensively at the wall. “Crowley’s dead.”

Anna jumped to her feet as Rachel let out a sob of relief. “Thank god,” she muttered, squeezing her hands together tightly.

“That’s not it,” Raphael interrupted, his voice sombre. “Rachel-”

“What?” she demanded. “Raphael?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Michael – he didn’t make it. Neither did Lucifer.”

Dean’s knees gave in and he sank onto the couch.


	21. Chapter Twenty One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaaand we're done. Well, except for the epilogue. Usual thanks go to Flick, without whom this would literally not have been updated in yonks (etc etc). Thanks for sticking with us. Hope you aren't too disappointed in the ending.

The day of Michael and Lucifer’s funeral, Dean woke up screaming.

Castiel was instantly awake, pressing a comforting hand to Dean’s chest and whispering words of succour in his ear. They had this honed to an art now – Castiel was used to talking Dean down and helping him calm his pulse enough to relax.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Cas whispered into his ear. “It’s okay.”

Dean should have been expecting it, really. He had been dreading the funeral – of course he had – and everyone had told him that anxiety would only make his nightmares worse. Well, there wasn’t much he could do about the anxiety. He just had to suffer the consequences.

He breathed deeply, sucking air in through his nose and holding it for a count of ten before letting it whoosh back out. He patted Cas’ hand on his chest absently, leaning back against the pillows.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he muttered, rubbing a hand across his face. “Sorry for waking you.”

“I was already awake,” his boyfriend responded. Castiel leant back against the pillows as well, ruffling his fluffy black hair and staring at the ceiling. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Dean hummed in agreement. “I think there’s a lot of that going ‘round tonight.” A glance out of the window showed him the grey light of pre-dawn and he sighed. It would have been nice if he could’ve had a few more hours sleep; it would be a long day and he needed all the energy he could get. But there would be no getting back to sleep after that dream. The image of Alastair staring up at him, his eyes going dull and flat… well. That was an image that stayed with him for a long time.

He sat up and swung his legs out from under the covers. In the two weeks since Michael and Lucifer’s death, he was practically fully healed. He had his cast off and all his bruises and cuts were gone – or at least, scarred over. He still ached sometimes, his ankles worst of all, and there would be no fixing the words carved into his body, but he was a lot better. He could walk unaided and stay awake for a whole day, at least.

“Dean?” Castiel asked, his soft voice jolting Dean out of his quiet contemplation. “Are you going to get up now?”

“I was thinking about showering,” Dean admitted, glancing back at his boyfriend. “Do you want me to stay?”

Castiel bit his lip and shook his head. “No, of course not. Go and have your shower.”

Hearing the lie in Cas’ words, Dean swung himself back into bed and pulled Castiel into his chest. “Why would I do that,” he teased, “When I have a warm bed and my own human space heater?” Castiel laughed, relaxing against Dean and curling into him. Dean loved the way they fit together – it was natural to let his body curl into the gaps Cas left with his own.

“I see what this is,” Castiel murmured into his neck. “You only want me for my internal heating system.”

“Ah shit,” Dean said through a laugh, “You discovered my secret plan. What a nightmare. I suppose I’ll have to convince you into forgetting…”

Castiel hummed thoughtfully and snuggled closer, his bed-mussed hair tickling Dean’s chin. “I suppose I could be open to negotiations,” Castiel mused slowly. “But I might have to be cuddled into submission first.”

“Well,” Dean replied, tucking him firmly against his chest. “I guess I can be open to that.”

Castiel just sighed and let his head drop. Dean turned his gaze back to the window; it would do no harm, he mused, to stay in bed for a little while longer. Just for a few more minutes.

 

\--- --- ---

 

The funeral was, predictably, a beautiful, sombre affair. The Milton family – plus Dean and Sam, to their consternation – wore white. Every pew was filled, with people from the town and outside it as well, all turning out to mourn their Mayor. There was a whole pew of people from the hospital, Lucifer’s colleagues and, to some degree, his friends. Balthazar had greeted them all by name, thanking them for coming – and many of them for their hard work during his recovery. He too was cast-free now.

Dean sat in the front row beside Castiel. Sam and Gabriel sat beside them, their hands clasped firmly together. Dean could guess that both of their palms were incredibly sweaty, but it didn’t seem to bother the young teenagers. Gabriel was simply taking comfort in Sam’s presence – and Sam would do anything for Gabriel. Dean wondered at their certainty.

Well, time would tell, he guessed. But he reckoned Sam would do alright. The boy was, as Bobby put it one time, an ‘old soul’. He would be okay.

Speaking of Bobby, he was sat in one of the rows behind them, Ellen on one side and his girlfriend (girlfriend! At his age! Dean had laughed so hard he got a stitch when he’d been told) Jodie on the other. Jo was sitting with them, their other friends close by – Ash and Becky and Andy. It was quite the show of support.

Up front, the caskets – both Michael and Lucifer’s – were closed. Dean hadn’t needed to question why, although Anna had, innocently enough. Raphael had looked like he was chewing something particularly unpleasant when he had explained that they weren’t in any state to be seen by the public.

Rachel, who had been in the room as this was explained, had nodded sombrely. She had been an example of poise and grace throughout the past two weeks and honestly, Dean found it a little creepy. She was pregnant for God’s sake! The kid was going to grow up without a Dad! Who just nodded at the state of their _dead husband_ ’s corpse?

Needless to say, he had steered clear whenever possible.

The funeral itself was surprisingly short. With how religious the family was, Dean had wondered if it would be hours long with multiple readings of biblical passages. In fact, the longest parts were the eulogies.

Michael’s eulogy was written and spoken by Raphael, who spoke of his brother’s strength, of his conviction, of his love for his family and his love for God. It had all been very cliché and, from what Dean had seen, not exactly representative of the twisted person Michael had been. Yeah, the man certainly was convicted, but he had killed his brother right there in front of Dean! That didn’t exactly speak for strong familial bonds.

Although, Dean was a murder himself, so he really didn’t have room for judgement.

Lucifer’s eulogy, however, was given by Castiel. It was altogether simpler – and more honest.

“Lucifer was always entirely himself,” Castiel started, looking down at his notes. “I admired that most about him.” He took a moment to breathe and looked up at the gathered mourners. “When I was a child, Lucifer left our home. I was an adult when he returned. And yet, Lucifer was still the same person, despite the years that he was away. He was still as kind as ever, living up to his desire to ‘do no harm’. And ultimately, he was still just as sarcastic.”

That got a laugh from some of the audience, Balthazar in particular, which seemed to shock the mourners who knew Lucifer least.

“The most important thing to remember about my brother,” Castiel went on to say, “Is not that he was kind or that he was funny. It was that he loved. It was that, no matter where he went or what he did, he loved truly and with the entirety of his being wherever possible. And whenever I shall remember my brother, it will be his love that I recall.”

Castiel picked up his notes and returned to his seat beside Dean, who leant over and took his shaking fingers in his own. Giving them a soft squeeze, he offered Castiel a brief smile.

“I think he would have loved that speech,” he murmured in a whisper.

Castiel offered him a quirk of his lips in response – as close as he would get to a smile right now. “Thank you, Dean,” he responded just as quietly. “I wish I could hear him say that himself.”

 

\--- --- ---

 

“Well, this is all rather dull, isn’t it?” Balthazar said, dropping into the seat beside Dean at the reception. Dean had been sitting, watching the mourners hound Castiel with a slight frown on his forehead, fingering the creased piece of paper in his hand.

“Yeah,” he agreed, taking the proffered glass from the older man. “It’s not exactly what Lucifer would have wanted.”

“Nope,” Balthazar agreed as Dean took a sip and almost choked on the fiery liquid. “It is, however, exactly what Michael’s work colleagues would expect from the stodgy old bastard. We’ll have Luce’s reception over in the corner.” He offered Dean a sly smirk which the teenager couldn’t help from returning. It was so like Balthazar.

“I thought,” the man continued, “That since you were officially medication free that we might toast the old sod’s memory?”

“It seems like I don’t have much of a choice,” Dean pointed out, lifting his drink in a wry salute. “But yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”

“To Lucifer,” Balthazar offered, returning the salute. “May he rest in peace, the sodding wanker.”

“To Lucifer,” Dean agreed, drinking the vodka again. It was no better the second time around.

“What do you have there?” Balthazar asked, indicating the paper in his hand. Dean sighed, fingers curling around it protectively. “No intrusion meant, of course.”

“No, it’s fine,” Dean muttered. He cleared his throat and added, “It’s a letter from my Dad.”

Balthazar looked at him for a long moment. “And I’m to take that you haven’t told Sam? Seeing as you’re brooding dramatically in a corner.”

“I’m not _brooding_ ,” Dean protested, “But… no. I haven’t yet.”

“Well, let’s have it then,” Balthazar demanded, sighing dramatically. “I’ll help you break the news if you want.”

Dean handed the offending article over eagerly. He had no idea what to do with it.

 

_Dean,_

_By the time you get this, you should have your cast off. I reckon you’re angry at me for not sticking around while you recovered, but you’re a grown man now. Nineteen – you’re an adult. You could join up._

_Not that I expect you will, seeing as you have a boyfriend and all. ~~And you could have fucking told me~~ But that’s not the point._

_The point is that when you took Sam away from me I was angry. And I was scared. ~~Scared of losing him to you~~ And I lashed out. That wasn’t fair to you ~~and I’m~~_

_~~Look, I wanted~~ _

_I won’t be around anymore. The way I see it, you boys have a good thing going on. I’ve sent the documents to Bobby – he’s officially Sam’s guardian now. Neither of you want anything to do with me and I guess I’ll just have to accept that._

_I’m going to give it another go. I have another son. His name is Adam and he’s four. His mother and I don’t have much of a relationship, but I’d like to try and have one. Since your mother died I’ve never let her go long enough to try. I think I’d like to. I’ve joined AA as well. Figured I’d give the sober thing a go, too._

_I brought you up with violence, Dean, and it doesn’t surprise me that you’re good at it. I’m glad you’ve found yourself a boy who seems to want to avoid it._

_Take care of Sam,_

_John._

 

Balthazar was silent for almost a minute after reading it. He cleared his throat and tried to speak, but seemed to be unable to find words.

“Well,” he said after a while. “That’s…”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered.

“Your Dad’s a dick,” Balthazar offered finally. Dean couldn’t help but laugh in response. “A grade A one. And I’m sorry, Dean. It’s not fair of him to put this on you.”

Dean could only shrug. “We’re better off without him, to be honest,” he said fairly, glancing over at where Sam and Gabriel were leaning against each other, eyes half shut in exhaustion. “This way, Sam’s got a chance of growing up right, getting his diploma and going to college. He deserves a normal life.”

When he turned back, Balthazar was watching him with shrewd eyes. “What?” he asked nervously.

“You’re a good man, Dean Winchester,” he said, standing up. “I’ll talk to Sam for you. And Dean?” he added, tilting his head.

“Yeah?” Dean asked, scratching his head in confusion.

“You deserve a normal life too.” With that, the man turned and walked away.

Before Dean had a chance to even start trying to figure out what that meant, Castiel’s voice drew him up short.

“Was he bothering you?” his friend asked, sitting down beside Dean.

“No,” Dean assured him absently. He realised then that Balthazar had taken the letter with him.

“What did he want?” Cas asked, taking the glass from his hand and sniffing it suspiciously.

“To toast to Lucifer,” Dean explained, snatching the drink back with a grin. “Sorry, Cas, but this is for your brother.”

“Hmm,” Cas said, frowning at Dean, but finally seemed to decide it wasn’t worth pursuing it. “Very well. I think it’s almost over now, anyway, so you being drunk really can’t hurt matters.”

“Much,” Dean added and Castiel nodded, conceding the point.

They sat in silence for a moment, enjoying each other’s company. Then Dean gathered the courage and sucked in a breath to ask, “What happens now?”

Castiel considered this for a minute. When he responded, it was slow and measured, like he was sounding Dean out. “Well,” he said, “I guess that depends a lot on what you want to happen now.” When Dean didn’t respond, Castiel added, “Life goes on, Dean. It’s just a matter of how you live it.”

“I’d-” His voice caught in his throat and he had to stop to clear it. Castiel waited patiently, though, fully prepared to wait for Dean to get the words straight. “I’d like to live it with you,” Dean finally managed, blushing at the corny words. “If that’s okay.”

“I’d like that too,” Castiel answered serenely and Dean looked away, burning even brighter red.

He saw Sam and Gabriel sitting with Balthazar, talking. Sam was nodding seriously and he didn’t look upset, even though there was a piece of paper in his hands. Rachel, with her giant baby belly, was talking to Ellen and Bobby – they seemed to be making some kind of plan. Raphael and Bela Talbot were at the bar, drinks in hand as they leant over a piece of paper. Inias and Hester were leaning against Anna’s legs, who was talking to Pamela earnestly even as she stroked her fingers through her nephew’s short hair.

When he turned back to his friend, he found Castiel watching him with interest.

“What?” he asked, wondering if he had something on his face.

“Nothing,” Castiel responded, smiling a little as he shook his head. “It’s just – you were smiling. You looked like you were… happy.”

“I guess I am,” Dean mused, glancing between his newfound family and his boyfriend. “I guess I’m not as broken as I thought I was.”


	22. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, as we say in showbiz, that's a wrap.
> 
> (I'm totes not in showbiz)

Five Years Later

 

The sun in Venice was relentless. Dean was loving it – Castiel, on the other hand, looked utterly miserable. He hadn’t stopped frowning since the plane touched down yesterday evening, despite the fact that this entire holiday had been his idea.

Still, whatever Castiel’s problem was, he couldn’t stop Dean from enjoying the weather. It wasn’t that they had _bad_ weather at home, but it was nothing compared to the Mediterranean. Dean was actually wearing shorts for once – something he rarely, if ever, indulged in. It was actually Balthazar who had bought him these shorts when Castiel had told him they were planning the trip.

“Trust me,” Balthazar had said with a wink. “You’ll be grateful for them.”

And Dean was. The sweat that trickled down his spine was actually bearable.

“Cas,” he said as his boyfriend dragged him down a different street. “Where are we going?”

Castiel was still frowning. “I told you, Dean. We have a meeting.”

Dean couldn’t help but let out a huff. Who scheduled business during their holiday? But seeing as Castiel had organised the whole thing and paid for it, Dean didn’t protest. He simply followed his boyfriend through the winding streets, glancing longingly at the boats floating up and down the canal. They hadn’t taken one yet, and he would be damned if he went to Venice without actually going on the Venetian canals.

“Here,” Castiel said, finally coming to a stop. The café they had arrived at looked exactly like the four they had passed up, and Dean had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Still, he took the seat Castiel ushered him into – at a four person table. Cas took the seat beside him and waited, chewing at his nail.

A waiter approached them and Castiel ordered coffee in rapid fire Italian. Dean couldn’t speak one jot of the language, and it was still far too sexy that his boyfriend was fluent.

Still, Castiel was hardly in the mood for Dean to flirt with him. So he subsided, taking the coffee when it was offered and sipping at it, waiting grumpily for whatever was so important they had to interrupt their holiday for it.

In fact, he was so consumed with being grumpy that he didn’t notice the two men until they were pulling out seats at his table. When he looked up, it took him a moment to process what he was seeing. Then:

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” he swore, staring in vague horror at Michael and Lucifer, the latter of whom was smirking at him. He turned to share his confusion with Castiel, who was looking – guilty.

Dean groaned. “Are you kidding me?” he asked plaintively, staring at his boyfriend. “How long have you known?”

Castiel shifted uncomfortably and muttered something under his breath. When Dean just raised his eyebrows in response, the other man blushed and blurted, “Not as long as Raphael!”

Lucifer snorted.

Michael, however, smiled warmly at his little brother. “Ask yourself, Dean, how easy you would have found it to tell Castiel that two people you thought dead years ago had asked you for a meeting.”

Dean scowled, but had to concede the point. They sat for a minute as the waiter returned and Lucifer ordered coffee for Michael and himself. The silence reigned for a further minute as Dean struggled with what to say.

“Well,” he finally decided on, “You’re not dead.”

The two exchanged amused glances, before Michael said, “No, we are not.”

“What gave it away?” Lucifer asked dryly.

Dean turned to Castiel, who was still blushing. “And you couldn’t have at least _warned_ me? Before we got on the plane?”

Castiel shifted. “I _am_ sorry, Dean. I couldn’t think of a way to explain, and then I ran out of time.”

Dean let him stew for a moment longer before smiling, a wry little laugh escaping from his throat. He glanced back at the other men as he said, “It’s really good to see you.”

Castiel deflated in relief. Lucifer smiled and said, “It’s good to see you, too.”

Their coffees arrived and the four men sat in silence for another minute, enjoying each other’s presence, before Castiel stirred and asked, “What have you been doing?”

The brothers exchanged a look, slightly embarrassed. They seemed to be battling about something through a silent conversation.

Lucifer broke away first, staring challengingly at Dean. “We got married.”

Well. Right then.

Dean raised his eyebrows and said, “Congratulations. You’ll forgive me if I don’t buy you a gift – I must have missed the registry.”

Lucifer laughed and Michael’s tense shoulders relaxed a little. It was Lucifer – ever the more expressive brother – who went on to explain that they had been married a few months after their ‘deaths’, in a small chapel in Sussex, England, with fake papers and a progressive priest. Italy, as it stood, still didn’t recognise same-sex marriages, but they accepted the two as next-of-kin easily enough. They were known as husbands in this city – no one knew them as brothers. So after Lucifer had recovered from his experiences at Crowley’s hands, the two had set up shop in Venice – and had bought some property, wherein they had opened an art gallery.

“It’s Michael’s true passion,” Lucifer had explained in response to Dean’s questioning look. “And after what happened with Crowley, well, I still have a little damage.” At this he held out his hands to show them trembling slightly. “I could still be a doctor, of course, but without surgery… well it’s not the same. I volunteer at a walk-in centre, though.”

At this, Michael reached out and grasped his husband’s hand, squeezing it gently in support.

Lucifer was still smiling though, even if it was tinged with sorrow. “Now, tell me about you two. That’s far more interesting than a pair of old queens in Italy.”

Dean rolled his eyes but Castiel smiled at his brother. “I think this pair of queens is wonderful. But very well. As you know, Dean and I graduated from college this summer…”

Dean and Castiel took turns to explain the goings on of the past five years. After the pair finished high school they went to college – in the same state but not the same school. Dean studied Engineering, and while he was hardly an honours student, he worked hard and did well. Castiel, to no one’s surprise, graduated summa cum laude with a History degree and was looking forward to studying his Masters next year.

Sam and Gabriel were still together. They did break up in their senior year, but after their first term of college they realised they didn’t really want to be apart. No one was surprised. Sam was at Stanford, studying pre-law, while Gabriel was at culinary school. They had an apartment together and were practically married (at least, according to Dean.)

The rest of the Milton siblings had mainly decided to let go of their life of dubious morality. Anna became a journalist for the local newspaper and used her powers for good (“Mostly,” Dean added. “Sometimes she still makes immoral decisions. Like gossip.”). Balthazar had opened a restaurant in the city, promising Gabriel a job upon his graduation, while Raphael ran for mayor after Michael’s death.

He won, of course, but he made an important change as well: Bela Talbot was his second in command. They worked well together, to no one’s surprise. The final Milton brother, Zachariah, had become somewhat estranged from the family after Michael was no longer there to act as a go-between for his brother. He was now a TV preacher, making money by cursing those ‘damned homosexuals’ and on and on.

Rachel, now the matriarch of the Miltons, had had her son. His name was Luke. Now approaching five, he was as blonde as his namesake, but with his father’s eyes. He was a darling boy and an imp and Dean was his favourite uncle (a position which was much disputed by the other Milton men.) As for the others, well. Bobby never got round to proposing to Jodie because she got there first. She simply sat him down one evening and told him she’d booked the church for a month on Saturday, and would he prefer to have a dinner at Ellen’s diner or at their home?

Cas and Dean’s friends all grew up and went on with their lives – but stayed in touch. Ash went to MIT and stayed there, determined to revolutionise the face of something or other… while not getting arrested for hacking. He was pretty good at avoiding arrest. Jo went to the state college and studied psychology – graduating in three years and getting her masters in one more. She was now studying her for her doctorate and was determined to help rape survivors. When Castiel brought this up, Dean had a small smile on his face at the idea of his best friend doing so well. Chuck and Becky co-wrote a successful mobster series, whose main characters were a star-crossed gay couple, named Charles and Derek.

Imaginative.

As for Crowley’s ilk, well, they mostly disbanded and went their own ways. Ruby went on to be successful and got into Yale, studying politics. She was slightly less psychotic these days, but not by much.

“And that’s pretty much it,” Dean said, coming to an end.

It was Michael who asked, “And what are your plans now? While Castiel is at college?”

Dean hesitated and looked at his hands. He’d thought maybe… but well. It wasn’t really.

“He’s had a job offer,” Castiel said, “With Bobby. But he’s thinking of coming back to college with me and working there.”

“Really?” Michael asked, eyebrows raised. “You aren’t going for your masters too?”

“Nah,” Dean said, half-embarrassed and half-pleased from the compliment. “Education was never my forte. I like motors way too much.”

Lucifer and Michael exchanged another look. It was impressive, how they managed to have silent conversations, and Dean wondered if he and Castiel would ever get there. He hoped so.

“Well,” Lucifer said, sipping from his third cup of coffee. “I think that sounds rather wonderful.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, looking over at Dean with love in his eyes. “I think so too.”

Dean had to agree.


End file.
